


Eversong

by Siyah_Kedi



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, begun in 2008, old, this version from 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 18:44:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 74,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siyah_Kedi/pseuds/Siyah_Kedi
Summary: My very first novel. Complete, technically.  A first draft, and so completely shit.





	1. Chapter 1

_She was dreaming._ It was a familiar dream, one she’d had several times over the course of the last month, and it was always the same – the dark haired man, the tall forests, and a massive city rising above the trees.  She was reaching towards him, and just before their hands met, he crumpled to the ground, and she jerked awake.

            Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she flinched away from the sunlight streaming through the open blinds in her bedroom window, and for a moment couldn’t think of where she was.  Seconds later, memory reasserted itself, and she recalled that she’d finished college a month ago – as hard to believe as _that_ was – and had moved temporarily back in with her parents while she found a full-time job, and got back on her feet from spending the last four years in a dorm.  Her alarm began blaring out its message, set to her favourite song in the world, Unchained Melody.  Her room-mates had always made fun of her for waking up to such a soft, pleasant song, but she’d always held firm to the belief that it beat waking up to something harsh and demanding.

            “Vicky! You awake yet?” It was her father; the only man, as she’d said since she was five years old, that she’d ever need in her life.  “Vick?”

            “Coming daddy,” she hollered back down at him, and slid out of the comforting warmth of her bed, shaking off the remnants of the strange dream.  In the notebook she kept beside her bed, she jotted down a single line: _had that dream again._   Not bothering to dress, she flew down the stairs in her pajamas, earning her a reprimand from her mother.

            “Vicky, you’re going to fall down those stairs one day and break your neck.” At fourty-one years of age, Claire Crawford was still a beautiful woman.  Vicky always considered her mother the ‘serious one’ of the family, running a business out of their spacious, modern home while her husband Tim pursued his dreams of a career in photography.  Dark-hair, eyes, and skin betrayed his Mediterranean background; in the dead of winter he was just as tanned as he was in the summer.  Vicky had inherited her looks from her mother; thick dark hair and green eyes, as well as a tendency to run to plumpness.  Claire kept it off by exercising daily, something Vicky herself had never gotten the hang of.  She’d been ostracised in high school for her weight, and her interest in reading that outweighed any interest she had in her classmates’ past-times of drinking and partying.  The one thing she had gotten from her father was his rampant imagination; the two of them often went off into hour-long discussions and flights of fancy that generally left Claire shaking her head in frustration.

            “If I fall, I’ll fall,” Vicky said with a negligent shrug of her shoulders.  “I’m tough, I can take it,” she teased, putting her fists up mockingly.  Claire gave a long-suffering sigh, and pushed a plate towards her.

            “Breakfast,” she said, and then vanished into the spare bedroom-turned-home office.  Vicky ate it standing up, in a hurry to get out the door and on with her day.  Tim ruffled her hair in a fatherly gesture, and then set his plate in the sink before gathering up his camera bag and tripod and heading off to do – whatever it was he did during the day.  Vicky was astonished to realise that she actually didn’t know where her father was working; he just set out every morning around seven, and came back every afternoon between three and four.  She was momentarily taken aback by how little she actually knew about her parents these days; she didn’t know if she’d changed so much over the course of her college years, or if they had, and she didn’t want to dwell on either possibility. 

            Her breakfast finished, she began her morning routine, and was out the door by eight o clock, not-quite speeding on her way towards the bookstore. 

 

            Even for Virginia Beach, it was an unseasonably hot May day, and Vicky amused herself at stoplights by turning the radio all the way up and blaring her particular favourite brand of music – Japanese rock bands – to drown out the thumping bass of nearby cars.  Her original plans had included swinging by Lynnhaven mall and dropping in on the Barnes and Noble therein, before making her way over to the Borders on the other side of the city, but a small, out-of-the-way bookstore caught her attention, mostly because she’d never seen it before. 

            Acting on a whim, she pulled into the parking lot, and peered through the front window of the shop.  A kindly-looking older gentleman was sitting behind a small wooden desk that seemed to serve as the counter, and the books were piled so high that there was almost no room between the top of the stacks and the ceiling.  Excited at the prospect of finding old and hard-to-find books, she entered to the sound of a bell tinkling merrily above her head.

            “Welcome,” the man said, a friendly smile stretching across his face.  “How can I help you today?”

            She murmured something about just looking, and nodded to him politely before vanishing into the maze of shelves, gasping in awe at some of the titles that surrounded her.  Feeling at home for the first time in a long time, she perused the novels slowly, taking in the interesting and filtering out the more mundane titles.  She’d been there nearly ten minutes when the leather-bound volume caught her eye and held it.  _Eversong_ , it read along the spine, in neat, flowing letters, and she wondered what it could be about even as she was reaching for it. Set into the cover was a small silver key, longer than her car key and about the length of her middle finger.  It was carved with vines and leaves, with a ring on the end that was circular on the outside but curved inwards several times to make a loop of what looked like teeth. 

            She braced the book against one of the shelves – it was quite heavy, despite its size, and was rather unwieldy to boot – and opened the cover slowly, savouring the slow creak of leather.

            The pages were crisp and white, belying the age suggested by the antiquated cover and key, and the text was compact and easy to read.  There was a short, hand-written note on the inside, but it was so calligraphic that she was left mostly puzzled by it.  She scanned the first page, getting an idea for what it contained, as there was no blurbs about it on either the back or the inside cover, aside from that small paragraph of handwritten font, and discovered that it was a tale of an ancient, mystical land.  Despite the size of it, Vicky felt drawn in by those first few paragraphs, and although she was only half-way through her search of the store, she felt that she’d found what she’d come in looking for.  The man rang the book up at seven dollars – Vicky nearly protested, surely that was too cheap for such an old, large book – but his friendly eyes quelled the statements before they made it down to her tongue.

            “This is a good one,” he said conversationally.  “So nice to see bright young ladies such as yourself willing to go the extra mile to discover a good book.”

            Her mother had always taught her to keep an impartial distance from strangers; even strangers that seemed like kindly old grandfatherly types, but to her surprise, Vicky found his manners overwhelming her mother’s teaching and responded in kind.

            “I grew up reading,” she offered.  “I can’t imagine not being able to read.  Especially fantasy.  Being able to visit other worlds, other times, even for a short while,” she said wistfully.  There was a merry twinkle in the old man’s eyes.

            “I understand completely.  The power of the imagination, combined with the power of books, will never lose completely to the mindless droning of the television, no matter how popular American Idol happens to be at the moment.”

            Quite suddenly, something he said registered as uncanny and she smiled uneasily, not quite understanding what had changed.  He hadn’t said anything particularly dangerous-sounding; he was simply making conversation with her.  Indeed, she’d started it – she hadn’t needed to talk to him, merely pay for the book and be on her way.  Tucking it under her arm, she shoved the change into her pocket and waved brightly, abandoning her plans to visit the large chain bookstores.  This would be enough to keep her occupied for at least a few days, she thought, and the bell sang out happily as she left the store.

 

*

 

            Three days of unsuccessful job-hunting later, and Vicky was on her way down to Ambush for a drink with some friends.  It was nearly nine in the evening, and the sun had set what seemed like minutes before.  _The upside of Virginia in the summer,_ she thought happily, and turned her radio up for the sheer joy of it.  The windows were down, it was a warm night, and already the moon was rising and stars were beginning to creep out and start twinkling.  She glanced up, and caught one of them in her gaze and the old rhyme from childhood came back to her. _Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight…_ “I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.” _Now, what to wish for?_ “I wish… something exciting would happen,” she said airily.  She turned the corner at the light, and her eyes happened to roam over the shopping center.  Something was missing; she couldn’t quite figure it out, and then slammed on her brakes as she nearly collided with the car before her in her inattention.  A quick check of her mirrors revealed there was no one behind her, and she swung into the parking lot, staring down the lines of shops as she tried to figure out what had gone wrong.

            _The bookstore was gone!_  This was utterly silly, of course.  Whole stores didn’t just pack up and vanish in three days.  But no, now that she’d recognised consciously what was missing, she could see the two stores on either side – Party City and the UPS store – were now directly beside one another; there wasn’t even an empty shop between them.  _This is ridiculous,_ she told herself.  _There is absolutely no way that shop disappeared._ She’d been inside it! She’d bought something from it.  And she knew she was in the right place; she’d seen the posters on the windows of Party City, advertising their newest upcoming sale for the fourth of July.  They were still there, but there was absolutely no trace of the bookstore.

            Confused, she put it to the back of her mind and continued on her way to the club, but the issue wouldn’t leave her alone.  She was there barely five minutes before she was walking back out the door, claiming she needed sleep for an interview in the morning.  Her friends teased her about forgetting, and promised they’d see her later at the beach – Andrew was having a bonfire down there on Saturday, and had even gotten special permission from the city to do so.

            When she returned home, she found the book exactly where she’d left it – perched precariously on the edge of her already over-crowded desk.  Utterly flummoxed, she picked it up and began reading.

            _There exists a world outside of our own, filled with the remnants and relics of Earth.  Those creatures banished from our world, denied their right, all having found their way to Eversong where they can live in peace.  The populace of Eversong found themselves with a thousand years of peace and it was a golden era after the harsh divorce from their origins, and yet even these brightly lit days begin to fade as dissonance and strife begin to plague those who planted the seeds of discord in their own hearts.  The_ Mir’naam, _they are called.  The elves of darkest skin and hair, of darkest secrets within their hearts._

            _Within the deepest forests of Azerus, the Mir’naam stronghold, lies the city of night, named Girvanni – the city of dark stones.  It is said that in Girvanni, anything can be bought for a price.  Love, happiness, beauty, they are as possessions in the blackest marketplaces, these things that the light-loving Eversong gives freely of her peoples.  The self-enforced isolation of the Mir’naam has become a bitter taste in the mouths of their people – no longer do they cherish the light and happiness, but embrace a darkness blacker than the stone walls that encircle them._

 

*

 

It was fascinating.  Rich, vivid, she felt almost as though she’d just visited Eversong herself.  The tome began taking up more and more of her day.  The characters and places spoken of within the pages were as real to her as her family and friends.  It was early Saturday morning, and she’d woken with the dawn and decided that she had to get out of the house.  Tossing the book haphazardly into the passenger’s seat of her car, she drove aimlessly for a few minutes, and then decided on the park.  They’d just put in a new fountain at Redwing, and there was to be a gathering later that day to celebrate it, and unveil it to the world. 

            She parked outside the Japanese garden, resisting the temptation to wander around the memorial, and instead turned her attention to the cordoned off fountain just across the street.  It was sparkling like a fountain of gold in the early morning sunlight, and she took a moment to simply bask in the quiet beauty of the combined elements of stone, water, and wood.  It was early enough that even morning joggers hadn’t made it to the park yet, and it was utterly silent save for the splashing of the fountain and the birds and insects that frequented the trees surrounding the park. 

            Ducking under the rope, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one had witnessed her little ‘breaking and entering’ stunt, and then sat herself on the lip of the fountain’s basin, breathing deeply of the cool morning air that was already warming to the sun’s searching rays as it peeked over the horizon.  The sunlight reflecting off the water sprays played across the silver key embedded in the cover of the novel, and she absently plucked at it, wondering if it was glued in, or if it would come out. 

            She felt a mischievous desire to withhold the next chapter from herself for just a little longer, and deliberately set the book down beside her and turned to study the fountain.  It had been the talk of the city for months now, with news headlines frequently detailing the troubles the commissioners went through to get the fountain just right, and then the fierce debate that had raged on where it was to be placed.  It was split almost evenly down the middle; half of those involved wanted it on the boardwalk at the beach, so as to attract more tourism, the other half wanted it in Redwing Park, where it would complement the serene beauty of the Japanese Garden, and the smallest group in numbers wanted it placed near Mount Trashmore, to give the inelegant playground some class. 

            It had been a fierce argument, but eventually the Redwing supporters won, and now here it was. 

            The construction had been a complete secret.  Vicky surmised that they’d actually built the fountain itself away from the park, laid the pipes and groundwork for it, and then smuggled it in overnight, connecting everything and filling it with water like ninjas.  She chuckled at her own whimsy – imagine, ninjas sneaking into the park and installing a fountain! – and let her fingers trail over the carvings on the stone basin.  She noticed more than a few classical references in the frescoes, and a hefty smattering of religious themes from all over the world. 

            The flow of the water altered suddenly, just for a moment, as though an air bubble had been caught within the piping and had halted the stream on one side, and she caught a familiar shape carved into the upright portion of the fountain. 

            It was a key, the same shape and design of the key embedded in the cover of the book she was currently sitting beside.  She held her hand in the flow of water, making a sort of window through which she could better see the carved shapes – satyrs and fawns, nymphs, dragons, Faeries, and unicorns all frolicked round the pillar, and they seemed to almost be pointing towards the key.  With her free hand – the one that wasn’t soaking wet – she held the book up to compare the carved key with the one on the book, and discovered that they were identical.  The key embossed on the fountain was pointing to wards a doorway, however, and she leaned closer, trying to read the words imprinted across it. 

            The letters were English, or looked English enough, but she couldn’t quite make out the words they formed.  She squinted, trying once more to make sense of it, and she was suddenly surrounded by birds.  _Moving aviaries_ she’d once referred to them as, the massive flocks that wheeled and dove in the air before descending upon a group of trees and becoming invisible, but not inaudible.  There were hundreds of them all around her now, and in her surprise, the book slipped out of her hand as she lost her balance and fell backwards into the massive basin of the fountain.

            She never hit the bottom.  She sank quickly below the surface and kept falling.  No matter how she struggled to swim upwards, she was dragged down with unholy force.  Fearing that she’d hit her head and was now dreaming of drowning as she actually did, she struggled even more fiercely, clinging to life with her last shred of hope.  The water cleared, but the downwards pull never ceased.  She blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to seeing in the water; her eyes burned with the effort, and the only thing she could see was swirling shades of blue.  Her lungs screamed in agony, but she fought against the desire to draw in a breath, knowing that she was probably going to die anyway but refusing to go without a fight.  She’d never done anything by halves; she wasn’t going to start now.

            Suddenly a dark shape drifted into her line of sight, blurry as it was.  She recognised the size and shape of the book, and reached for it.  Her fingers met metal, and closed around a tiny shaft topped by a hoop.  _The key,_ she realised, and everything faded to darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

The water swirled around her in a dizzying maelstrom that spun her every which way.  That’s what she was aware of when consciousness reasserted its hold on her, when suddenly her attention was arrested by a glimpse of dazzling light above her.  The water surged towards it, taking her body with it, and Vicky broke the surface after what felt like hours, and took several deep, lung-refreshing gulps of air.  She found the key in her hand, and glanced around to see if the book was still nearby.  It was at this point that she realised that she was no longer in the fountain; no longer even in Redwing Park.

            She was treading water in a large stream, too small to be a river, but too large to be a creek, by the way she defined it.  And it didn’t seem to be a man-made canal, as it was surrounded on both sides by huge, thick trees, the likes of which she hadn’t ever seen.  They seemed to reach so high that they’d touch the sky if she climbed one of them to the top.  There was still no sign of the book anywhere, and she was tired.  Swimming towards the nearest bank taxed the last of her energy reserves, and the second she was far enough up on the beach so as to be free of the water, she collapsed into a sleep so deep it was nearly unconsciousness.

            The sun was high in the sky by the time she opened her eyes again, and her stomach was making its emptiness known with a loud growl.  It was answered by something from the underbrush not five feet away from her, and Vicky scrambled to her feet, absently shoving the tarnished silver key into the pocket of her still-damp jeans before turning to face whatever was in the bushes.  Nothing moved for several long moments; there weren’t even birdsongs in the massive trees above her head, something she found highly suspicious.  The utter silence of the forest that surrounded her made Vicky feel more terrified than she’d ever been in her life.  Nothing she’d done up until this point had prepared her for the reality of being lost and without hope.  She took a step towards the bushes, and was rewarded with another rumbling growl.  _Just one,_ she thought, wondering if she might make it past the creature and towards some semblance of safety.  _One thing at a time._  She took a deep breath, and then threw herself into a dead sprint, away from the thing in the bushes.  There was a rustling and a snarl that shook her to her bones, before the thudding sound of four paws hitting the ground sounded behind her.  Petrified, but unwilling to stop or look back, Vicky ran for her life, her feet pounding the ground in a solid rhythm that soon morphed into the beat of her thoughts. _Gotta…just…get…away…Go…faster…run!_

            Something large and heavy struck her back, knocking her to the ground and leaving her breathless.  Instead of ripping and tearing at her, the way she’d expected, the beast backed off suddenly, as though chasing her down and jumping on her had been the sole purpose of the exercise.  There was a haunting whistle followed by a solid thunk and a yelp, and Vicky drew her face up out of the cradle of her arms and looked up – straight into the business end of a notched arrow. 

            Following the wooden shaft upwards to the string, she was greeted by a pair of frosty golden eyes framed by shaggy black hair.  It appeared to be a man not much older than she was, and she was almost relieved until a few more details pressed their way into her foggy brain.  He wasn’t dressed normally; the bow and arrow she could have forgiven, she knew people still hunted with them occasionally, even if the design was like nothing she’d ever seen before.  But it was his clothes that got her attention first – if she hadn’t been so terrified, or tired and hungry, she might have thought he’d stepped out of a Dungeons & Dragons handbook – they seemed to be made of a black cloth not unlike cotton, but she could tell even at this distance that it wasn’t.  The tunic was topped by bits of black armour that appeared, at first glance, to be made of leather.  There was a breastplate covering the space between his shoulders and hips, and two bracers around his forearms.  Even his boots – ridiculously knee-high things into which the bottoms of his trousers were tucked, putting her in mind of the German military uniforms she’d seen pictures of from World War II – were plated in that strange armour.  And he still hadn’t lowered the bow.

            “Who are you and what are you doing here?” he snapped gruffly.  Vicky looked back up into his face, and it was in that moment that she noticed what hadn’t sunk in before: his ears were pointed.

            Not just a little bit pointed, the way the elves from the Lord of the Rings movies were, but rigid, extending back and away from his face before coming to a sharp point at the end.  If she had to chance a guess, she’d have said they were six or seven inches long. _That’s not possible,_ she thought to herself.  _I’m having some sort of near death experience, that’s all._

            “I asked you a question,” he barked, the arrow quivering on the string as though it were just looking for an excuse to fly.  She squeaked once, and then cleared her throat.

            “Vicky.  Victoria Crawford.” She scrambled up to her knees, holding her hands out to prove that she was unarmed.  “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she admitted.  “I don’t know where I am, or how I got here.” To her utter dismay, the firm reality of the words brought tears to her eyes, and before she could reign them in, the terror, the exhaustion, it all combined in that single moment and she began sobbing quietly, covering her face with her hands.    

            He bit off an oath, and lowered the bow, stalking around her to peer at the body of the thing he’d killed.  Vicky wrestled with her emotions until she was sure she had them under control, and followed him with her eyes, not trusting him enough behind her and out of her sight.  She followed his gaze down to the creature, and muffled her scream when she realised how close she’d come to a messy and painful death.  The thing _somewhat_ resembled a black dog, or a wolf, if wolves or dogs came lion-sized.  Larger, even. It was the biggest living creature she’d ever seen outside the zoo, where the giraffes and rhinos and elephants were, and would have come up past her shoulders if it were still standing.  A large, fur-covered plate extended from the base of it’s skull down it’s back, reminding her of the dinosaurs she’d seen in books, the tricera-somethings, and two sharp looking horns protruded from the rim of the plate.  It had wickedly sharp looking teeth, still bared in a snarl even in death, and the menacing look in its wide-open eyes gave her chills.  This wasn’t a creature hunting for food; this was a creature hunting for the _pleasure_ of it.  She didn’t even know there were animals that killed for pleasure, outside of human beings.  Even the tail looked deadly; narrow and sleek, it ended in a sharp point, barbed like a fishing hook.  Even more surprising was the fact that there were two of them; two tails, each ending in a hardened protrusion that was sharp as a keen-edged knife.  The sight of it shook her to her core, and not even the sight of the thick arrow shaft protruding from its chest did anything to soothe her renewed terror. 

            “Skaal,” the man – elf, she corrected herself hysterically – said calmly, his tone no friendlier than it had been when he was demanding her name.  “Bred by those filthy Mir’naam as hunting dogs, but some got loose and bred in the wild.”  He nudged it with the toe of his book, looking coldly amused.  “At least they do some of my job for me; they’ll kill anything they can catch, including their former masters.”

            Vicky was horrified by the way he spoke so casually of killing; she was no safer now than she had been when the skaal was chasing her, she realised, but the human body is incapable of sustaining an adrenalin fueled terror for too long, and the fear was subsiding into numbness.  It was because of this that she almost didn’t catch his casual use of a word she’d heard recently.  Wracking her memory, it soon became apparent.  “Bred by _what?_ ” Her voice rose and cracked with renewed panic.  “Where am I? Who _are_ you?”

            “Jonas Brightblade,” he said with ice-cold courtesy.  “First Captain among the Royal Order of Warriors from the kingdom of Shu’ma.”  He sketched a tiny bow, smirking when he saw how she flinched.  “The skaal are the creation of the Mir’naam, the Dark Ones, and you, girl, are about five miles north of Kahlen.  Shall I continue?” He was mocking her cruelly, his eyes like chips of topaz set in a marble carving.

            She scowled at him, confused, angry with herself and with him, and the heated emotions were eating through the apathy she’d begun to wrap around herself like a cloak.  “Yes,” she snapped. “Continue. What the hell is Kahlen? The Mir’naam? You’ve got to be joking! Those are just the characters in the book, it’s not real.” Her eyes found their way to his face again, and from his face, to the long, tapered ears that jutted out through his shaggy dark hair.  Real or not, those were incredibly convincing.

            “Very well. It is the year 3092 in Eversong, and Kahlen is the nearest human settlement, and where I’m taking you.”

            Vicky shot to her feet, discomfited that he still towered over her, even at her full height.  “You’re not taking me anywhere!” she shouted.  “Eversong? _Eversong?!_ You’re crazy! You’re crazy and stupid and I’m not going anywhere until I can find out how to get back home!”  She was raving, she realised, but she was too hungry, too tired, and too sore to care what some arrow-toting madman thought of her at the moment.  The only thing pressing on her mind was getting dry, warm, and fed, and then figuring out how to get back out of this distinctly un-enchanted forest. 

            “I’m crazy?” he shot back nastily.  “You’re the one dressed like some maniac and raving about getting home. I’m taking valuable time out of my schedule to help you _get_ home, and this is the thanks I get? I ought to leave you here.”

            Suddenly fearful he would do just that, Vicky subsided.  It didn’t stop the furious thoughts she shot at his back as he moved past her soundlessly, slinging his bow over his shoulder with an ease that spoke of long practice.  

            He turned and took in her terrified gaze, sighing deeply.  “You really are stupid,” he said, almost patiently after the fine display of temper.  “Come on, we’re going.” Almost against her will, Vicky complied, hurrying to his side and giving the body of the skaal one last look before he started walking, a lengthy, ground-eating gait that she was hard-pressed to keep up with.  She refused to complain, however, and simply lengthened her own stride as much as she was able.  Questions piled up behind her eyes, each clamouring to get out and be asked, but she was still somewhat afraid that he’d decide she was too much trouble, and put an arrow through her before simply leaving her behind and going back to whatever it was he’d been doing before the somewhat impromptu rescue.  _I must be dreaming,_ she thought wildly.  _I can’t really be in Eversong. It’s just a story._

            The haunting details refused to leave her mind, however.  The skaal and Mir’naam, the length and shape of his ears, they all spoke volumes to her about what had actually happened. _Okay, so let’s say I’ve somehow actually ended up inside the book.  What should I do from here?_

            _Pinch yourself and wake up,_ her brain supplied helpfully.  She pinched the sensitive underside of her upper arm, and flinched at the sharp pain.  She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, willing herself to be back at Redwing park when she opened them again.  Hopefully, her eyes snapped open, and she looked around.  The same immensely tall trees surrounded her, the blue of the sky barely visible between the towering canopies of their leaves hundreds of feet above her.  She sighed heavily, earning herself a dirty look from Jonas. 

            “I am under no requirements to take you anywhere,” he reminded her.  Vicky took larger steps and caught up to him, refusing to answer him while her brain worked overtime. 

 

*

 

Gradually, the dense forest began thinning out, giving way to vast patches of green grass and flowers.  In the distance, Vicky could make out a small group of buildings, huddling together as a united front against the forest.  As they came closer to it, she was able to see people walking the streets.

            “This is the market section of Kahlen,” her unofficial guide announced, tempering the words with a fierce glare.  “They’re used to outsiders.  You’ll be fine.” He reached one hand out, and deposited a small leather satchel into her hand; it clinked as it fell.  “ _Nama’arie,_ girl.”  Jonas turned away, heading away from the town at a right angle to the path they’d been taking.  “ _Quet marth_ ,” he called over his shoulder, and then vanished over a small rise.   Vicky had passed through tired and exhausted, and was reaching the end of her limits.  Grateful that he’d at least had the foresight to provide her with something that was probably money, she poured the satchel out over her hand.  Gold and silver coins tumbled out, but they were unlike any currency she’d ever seen before.  They were covered in unfamiliar words written in a swooping font.  She tucked the horror of being utterly alone in a completely unfamiliar land into the back of her mind, and trudged the rest of the way into the town. 

            Stopping the first person she found, she blinked blearily and tried to focus on the person in front of her.  Dully, she noted that their ears were short and rounded at the tips, the way ears should be.  “Excuse me,” she said.  “Where can I find… an inn, and somewhere to get something to eat?”

            The woman clucked matronly.  “Just found your way here, _mel_?  Come, Zindra owns the best inn and tavern in Kahlen.  What’s your name, and where are you from?”

            Too relieved at the thought of hot food and a warm bed, Vicky let her mouth run ahead of her brain.  “My name’s Vicky Crawford, ma’am.  I don’t know how I got here, or where here is anyway.  I’m from Virginia Beach, and I was just out looking for a place to read my book, and I fell in the fountain and then somehow I came here.  I was attacked,” she added.  “The man… he called them skaal.”

            “ _Mae gouannen,_ Vicky Crawford.  My name’s Rowan.  I help out at Zindra’s some days; run a little booth in the market others.  The skaal have been an increasing problem ever since Zeeki died, and the Mir’naam went to war.” 

            “What?”  Tired as she was, Vicky recognised a prime source of information when she saw one.  “What does _mae gouannen_ mean?  And … _nama’arie_ and _quet marth?_  Who is Zeeki?”

            “Oh, I will run on if you let me,” Rowan said, sounding happy to have found an uninitiated audience.  “It’s just the language around these parts.  We’re closer to Shu’ma than Azerus here in Kahlen, and Mir’naam language fell out of use when Zeeki died.  Zeeki,” she went on to explain, “Was the Mir’naam … well, princess.  She was the daughter of Dhiren and Ixtli Blackleaf, the rulers of Azerus.  No one knows how she died, but as she was on her way to Shu’ma, the Mir’lian folk got blamed for it.  Needless to say, things’ve been tough around here since Zeeki went.  She was always such a bright little girl, very happy, looked forward to going to see Ember.”     She interrupted her own narrative with a shout.  “Willow! Sycamore! Get away from the river! You know better than that!  _Dolle na’a lost!_ ”  Rowan turned back to her.  “My kid brother and sister,” she explained.

            The two teenagers waved back, but cleared off the banks of the fast moving water.  Vicky interrupted a yawn to laugh.   “Rowan, Sycamore, and Willow?” Rowan’s face flushed. 

            “My mother fancied herself something of a tree-hugging hippie, and took the idea a little too far.  The newborn’s name is Oak.” Vicky laughed again, but this time it was stalled by the yawn.  “I’ll just finish explaining and then we’ll get you all settled up in Zindra’s,” Rowan fussed.  “ _Nama’arie_ , it's goodbye.  _Mae gouannen_ means nice to meet you, how are you doing, the like, and _quet marth_ is good luck.”    She herded Vicky into a large building, and deposited her in a bedroom, leaving a small tray filled with food on it.  “ _Quet nemse,”_ she said with a wink.  “Good night.” Vicky fell to the food ravenously, then crawled into bed fully dressed and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

*

            The morning brought with it the sounds of unfamiliar birds and sunlight streaming in through the wide window.  It struck Vicky full in the face, and she flinched reflexively before shielding her eyes and blinking up at the strange ceiling.  Her brain took a few moments to catch up, and she bolted upright in bed.  The small room was brightly coloured, the walls a pale green that complemented the darker green of all the furnishings.  It contained only the bed she was currently occupying, and a large table with the remains of her meal from the night before still sitting on it.  As she became more alert, the sounds of people began drifting in, shouts and good-natured greetings, all liberally interspersed with the strange language – Mir’lian, she told herself – that the strange sword-wielding man and Rowan had both utilised.  A sudden stab of panic jerked her more fully awake, and she checked her pockets; she’d been so deeply asleep last night that a herd of elephants could have stampeded through the room and it wouldn’t have disturbed her.  And pickpockets and thieves were much more subtle than elephants. 

            To her relief, both the bag of coins and the strange key from the book were still safely nestled within her jeans.  She stretched languidly, and then peered around the room as though the answer to what happened next would spring unannounced from the corner.  She let the situation roll through her mind, scanning it for any possible loopholes.  She’d come in through the river, so there was a chance that her way home was _back_ through the water. 

            She was working through the problem of getting back out of the town and finding her way through the labyrinthine forest back to the river when a gentle knock on the door disturbed her thoughts, scattering them to the four corners. The door opened slowly, and a pleasant looking woman smiled in at her.

            “May I come in, girl? My name’s Zindra, I own the Four Dragons.  Rowan said you’re new here.”  Without waiting for permission, she bustled into the room and gathered the dishes.  “Breakfast’s on the table downstairs if you’re keen on it,” Zindra said, and Vicky wondered about the suspicious look on her face.  

            “That’s great, thank you.”  Vicky said politely, and her stomach grumbled irritably at the mention of food, letting her know that it was empty.   She flushed, but Zindra seemed not to notice.  The innkeeper kept an eye on her as they walked, and Vicky belatedly realised she was waiting for Vicky to do or say something.  She repeated the story of how she’d discovered the book, and come through the river, leaving no details out about the way Jonas had treated her.  She talked until they reached the front room, but the smell of hot food emanating from the room in front of her set her stomach to growling the minute it reached her nose.  “That smells delicious,” she said honestly, and even while she was speaking, a voice in the back of her head noted that she was taking this whole thing incredibly well.  _Shouldn’t I be freaking out or something? I’m in an imaginary world.  Maybe I’m dead.  Do dead people freak out? This can’t be heaven.  God wouldn’t be so cruel as to let me die a virgin._   She thought of the very first person she’d encountered, Jonas Brightblade.  _Maybe he_ would _be that cruel.  
            _ On that note, maybe this was actually hell.  That would explain Jonas and the skaal.  She continued in that vein throughout the delicious, if foreign, breakfast of honeyed cakes and a strangely spicy porridge-like substance that Zindra placed in front of her. 

*

            Mid-morning in the Marketplace of Kahlen was like trying to get through Lynnhaven mall on Black Friday, Vicky decided.  She’d only ever made the mistake of going that day once, when Andrew convinced her to go with him because he had to have Guitar Hero on sale, and couldn’t find it anywhere else.  The crush of people had been overwhelming, herds of them simply milling about in the long corridors and occasionally slipping in and out of equally crowded stores.  Vicky had been hit with various limbs and shopping bags and other, less identifiable things so many times that she’d woken up the next day with bruises.  

            There was barely enough room for her arms to swing at her sides, the crowds were so thick around her.  And the _noise._   People hawking their wares, advertising there on the spot, people haggling with the vendors, arguing about prices, shouting gleefully at finding something they wanted or needed.  She slipped quietly through the spaces that opened up in the shifting maelstrom that was the Marketplace, looking for a place she could buy herself something useful.  As she walked, she thought about what she’d need. She wasn’t stupid enough to think she could traipse out of the town and wander through a thick, dark forest with no guide or map, or food.  She finally found a stall that sold bags, hand-made and intricately decorated with shells, beads, feathers, and embroidery.  The man behind it smiled warmly as she approached.

            “May I help you, miss?” he asked kindly, and she nodded.

            “I think so.  I need a bag, obviously, to carry food and maybe some clothes.”

            His smile widened.  “You’ve come to the right place.  These are no ordinary bags, you see, they’ve been enchanted.”

            Vicky nearly walked away after that phrase.  Instead, she lifted a defiant eyebrow, skeptically eyeing the small bags on display.  Silently, she dared him to reveal his scam.

            “I see you are a non-believer,” he said easily.  “This must be your first time in Kahlen, because no one else would question me; they all know that I am descended from the great wizards of old, and still retain a bit of their magic.”

            _Now I’ve heard everything,_ Vicky thought, but curiousity kept her where she was; and she _did_ need a bag after all.

            He lifted a small hip-bag, the straps carefully designed so that it would sit around the waist without flopping around or getting in the way.  “You seem to be a traveler; I don’t believe I’ve ever seen clothes like yours around here before.  I suggest this one.” He held it up for her inspection.  “It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but how much do you think it could hold?” Clearly accustomed to showing off, he pulled several large pots from beneath the stall, and set them on top of the rest of the merchandise on display.  “If I cannot fit all five of these cooking pots into this bag, I shall give it to you free of charge,” he challenged, and she smirked. 

            “Fair enough,” she said, and waited for him to fail.  His smirk matched hers, and he opened the bag.  She peered into it, noting that it was the same size on the inside that it was on the outside.  He lifted the first of the great pots, and slipped it inside.  Vicky gasped; the pot had indeed fit easily, despite being large enough to contain several of the bags, itself.  He methodically slid the rest of the pots into the bag, and then closed it up and shook it.  There was a muffled noise from within as the pots clunked together.  His point made, he removed the pots.  “I do not sell fakes,” he assured her.  “I’m not entirely sure how much it can hold, but I can guarantee that it will do whatever job you ask of it.  Five lyms for this.”

            Vicky started.  “What’s a lym?” she asked, pulling the satchel out of her pocket.  He dug beneath the counter, and displayed five coins, ranging in size from an American dime to a half-dollar coin.  “Penss, drin, lym, malf, and coro,” he told her, pointing to each one.  “It’s five pensses to a drin, three drins to a lym, ten lyms to a malf, and fifty malfs to a coro.”

She memorised the lineup, and dug out five of the coins he’d named _lym_ and handed them over.  He let her choose the design of the bag she wanted; she chose a dark green one with flowers in blue, purple, and red embroidered onto it with beads highlighting the edges.  It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen, and before she left the kiosk with it, she paused to make small talk.  “This is hand-made,” she guessed, and he nodded.  “By you?”

“My wife, actually,” he corrected, and gestured to the residential area not far from the Marketplace.  “She’s at home with the children, making more.  We sell enough to get by comfortably.”

Vicky smiled at him, happy to have found a friendly face after Zindra’s cold curiousity.  “Where’s the best place to get clothes and food that will keep on the road?”

He frowned thoughtfully, rubbing his beard.  “Clothes you’ll find at Silena’s.”  He motioned to a large building on the edges of the Market.  “Food can be found at any of the stands down that way, closer to Zindra’s.  The Four Dragons,” he amended helpfully.

            She thanked him for his help, and made her way through the crowded streets towards Silena’s.  It was unmistakable once she was in range to see it.  Mannequins lined the shops windows, modeling various outfits, mostly variations on the style of clothing Vicky had seen here on the majority of the people.  In her tight jeans and baggy shirt, she stood out against the crowds of belted tunics and loose leggings.  _Silena’s Finery_ was painted on a large sign above the door, and she pushed it open.  A bell sounded from above her as the door swung shut behind her, and she was treated to what seemed like the medieval version of Wal-Mart.  Shelves and shelves of clothes of every fabric and colour filled the vast spaces within the store. 

            A delicate, elfin woman scampered down a flight of stairs to Vicky’s right, smiling happily.  “Welcome to Silena’s.  You must be new around here.  You’ve come to the right place for some new clothes.  Are you looking for anything specific, then?”

            “Are you Silena?” Vicky asked, astonished by the woman’s height.  She couldn’t be any more than five feet, and that was pushing it.  At five feet five, Vicky felt like a giant next to her. 

            “I am,” Silena nodded.  “Anything specific?” she asked again, and Vicky looked helplessly down at her clothes, and then across the rows of tunics. 

            “I have no idea,” she admitted.  Silena’s smile widened. 

            “Not to worry, I’ve got the perfect thing. Follow me.”

            Vicky was tempted to check the woman for fairy wings as she whisked her way lightly down one of the aisles.  Following at a more sedate pace, Vicky took in the sights of all the strange costumes on display.  “Did you make all of this?” she called, and Silena’s head popped up from among the rows like a demented jack-in-the-box.

            “By the Lady, no,” she laughed.  “I’ve got a team of seamstresses upstairs working on it.  People don’t like to wait for their clothes to be made, you see, so about twenty years back, I started making them all before-hand and then just tailoring them when people came in and wanted something specific.  Then it got so popular I had to hire on some of the girls from town.  Now it’s a booming business!” She laughed merrily again, a tinkling sound that seemed to reach every corner of the spacious store.  “Here, you can try these on, see what you think.”  Vicky found herself with an armful of clothes.  Peeking out over the top, she managed to find the way towards the room Silena pointed out for trying the clothes on. 

            She’d never liked shopping before, but there was something about Silena’s constant stream of happy chattering that made it tolerable.  She chose two tunics and two sets of trousers to match out of the pile, amazed at the strange texture of the fabric.  It didn’t seem to be anything like the cotton she was familiar with, but neither was it leather or hide, like the Native American garb she’d seen on display in museums and for sale in specialty shops.  

            “These, please,” she said, showing them to Silena.  Her choices garnered her a smile.

            “You’ll be wanting a belt or two, and some boots, and maybe gloves too, right?” The spritely woman led her down into another room, where the afore-mentioned accessories and necessities were on display.  Vicky managed to get herself an entire outfit put together, and paid for it.  The total was cheaper than she’d been expecting, but then again, she guessed, they had no concept of sales tax or price-hikes.  The total amount of coins wasn’t much diminished by the day’s purchases.  She took time to change clothes, still half-disbelieving that her small pouch would hold everything she was asking of it.  The bag stood up to the task heroically, holding her sneakers, jeans, shirt, the cloak Silena had talked her into at the last minute, the second outfit she’d purchased, and the key from the book.  Silena looked at it oddly when she moved everything into the bag, but didn’t comment.  Vicky tied the bag to the belt, and looped the straps around her thigh and over her shoulder, securing it in place.  It was surprisingly efficient, and she vaguely wondered if she’d be able to take any of these things back with her when she made it home.

            _Home…_ A sudden jarring home-sickness hit her in the stomach, and she wondered what her parents were thinking of her disappearance.  She’d left her car parked in Redwing Park; someone would have found it by now, and realised that she’d gone missing.  They’d probably assume the worst, especially when no traces of her turned up anywhere near the park.  She smiled gratefully at Silena, and exited the store, where the renewed thundering of hundreds of people all talking at once startled the tears out of her eyes.   She stopped long enough at the remaining kiosks to buy fruit and bread and dried meat that she was assured would travel well, and a water-skin in case she didn’t find anything drinkable in the forest before the river. 

            Putting the town at her back, she marched defiantly towards the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

            Vicky’d been surrounded by trees for going on six hours now, and was positive she was lost.  She knew the general direction was right; walking away from the river, the setting sun had been behind her.  Now it was above her and sinking slowly downwards.  Occasionally there was just enough of a break between the leaves that the sunlight struck her full in the eyes. 

            On a slightly paranoid whim, she’d transferred most of the coins into the bag.  She could hear them jingle occasionally as she walked, but it was a muffled noise, and didn’t carry very far.  She hated the idea of carrying so much money directly on her person, but the straps on the bag ensured that anyone attempting to remove it would have to either amputate her leg before-hand, or have her take it off herself. 

            Accustomed as she was to the landscaped ‘forests’ in Virginia Beach that were well tended by the city, Vicky was certain she’d wake up with interesting bruises where she’d been struck repeatedly by branches.  Instead of the flat, winding forest trails cushioned by fallen leaves and pine needles that she usually encountered when walking through the woods, the forest she found herself in now was an uneven maze, with no distinctive markings whatsoever.  The tangled underbrush pressed in on her tightly enough that she had a myriad scratches across her hands and face, though the fabric of her new clothes held up well beneath the onslaught.  Branches and twigs hung every which way, catching in her hair and tripping her up. 

After another hour’s walking, she felt certain that she was nearing the river.  There was a quiet roaring sound that seemed to emanate from in front of her.  Where on the river wouldn’t matter, once she actually found it; she would simply follow it in one direction until she found something familiar.  A slight rustle to her left was the only warning she received.

With a terrifying shriek, something dark and armoured leapt out from behind one of the trees.  As if this was the cue, Vicky suddenly found herself surrounded by warriors, all dressed in the fantasy equivalent of camouflage.  Their armour was painted with varying shades of black, green, and brown, with flecks of gold that mimicked the sunlight streaming through the leaves.  Hidden within bushes or flat against the ground, the party would have been nearly invisible.

“You come with us,” the apparent leader said gruffly.  The English words sounded harshly accented, as though he was unused to speaking the language.  “And you tell us why you trespass on Mir’naam lands.”

 _Fuck._   “I didn’t know I was trespassing,” Vicky said honestly.  “I’m just trying to find my way home right now.”

They passed something back and forth in a guttural language that she didn’t recognise, and one laughed.  “Home. Very well girl, we’ll take you home.” He laughed again.   It wasn’t a very pleasant sound.

Vicky found herself lifted bodily off the ground, two of the scouts grasping her by her upper arms.  “I can walk,” she snapped, irritated that they’d thwarted her so close to her goal. 

“We want you walking the same direction we are, girl,” the leader said without looking at her.  Vicky settled herself to being carried, wondering if they were going to kill her.

It seemed that they were walking a long time before they finally exited the forest and came close to a collection of sturdy-looking tents, liberally dotted with fires in the fading sunlight.  Sentries met them at the perimeter of the camp, and her captors exchanged messages in the coarse language from before.  It was such a change from the light, flowing Mir’lian that she’d been vaguely acquainted with during her time in Kahlen, and she strained her ears trying to make sense out of the garbled letters that spewed from their mouths.

“Go with Maxtare,” the leader said to her, looking at her fully for the first time since she’d been captured.  She looked helplessly at the fiercely placid faces surrounding her, and the leader sighed.  Maxtare stepped forward, a heavy gauntleted hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

“With me,” he said, and half-lead, half-dragged her away from the scouting party, deeper into the camp.  It was deceptively large; an open space carved into one of the hills seemed to open onto what Vicky dubbed ‘the base’, where the majority of the Mir’naam were situated.  Only a few looked up at her entrance; mostly they were engrossed in discussions and a game of some sort, that seemed to involve dice, a board, and a large ball.  She didn’t have long to make her observations; Maxtare pushed her through another entranceway and down a dimly lit corridor.

“Why am I here?” Vicky asked, choking back the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.  “Are you going to kill me?”

Maxtare frowned, puzzling over the words.  “Not kill,” he said at length.  “Serve… you serve.”  He stopped in front of a thick wooden door, and gestured to it. “Here, stay. Morning begins.”

Her feet refused to take the final step, unwilling to be party to her own servitude.  Maxtare pushed the door open, and none-too-gently shoved her into the small room.  The door closed behind her, the _schnick_ of the lock echoing in the barren alcove.  Vicky waited until his footsteps had faded before sinking to the ground, sobs wracking her body as the stress relieved itself.  _Look on the bright side,_ she told herself after some time had passed and the tears were drying on her face.  _You’re still alive.  That’s something, at least._

It wasn’t comforting; she was still trapped on an alien world, held captive by rogue elves, and quite possibly presumed dead by her family.  _I’ll never get home._  The thought was bleak, and tasted bitter against the back of her mouth. 

As her eyes adjusted to the faint light emanating from the walls, she realised her prison wasn’t as empty as she’d thought.  A small table contained some unidentifiable food, and a goblet of liquid, and a tiny cot was tucked into the corner.  Not trusting the Mir’naam fare, she dug a few pieces of the dried meat she’d bought in Kahlen from the pouch, and sipped on the water.  Sometime during the long night, she fell asleep.

*

The first thing Vicky was aware of upon waking up was a soreness in her neck from sleeping upright against the wall.  The second thing she noticed was the sound of screaming.  Instantly alert, she jumped to her feet, pressing her back as close into the wall as she could get it.  Her muscles protested the abuse she’d put them through in the past few days, but she ignored that, too.  The screams carried on for what seemed like an eternity, until they were silenced with a frightening suddenness.  Vicky’s stomach tightened into a knot, wondering what had happened at the same time as she tried to keep all mental images as far away from herself as possible.

When the door to her cell swung open, she shrieked and threw the first thing that came to hand; the goblet on the table.  Maxtare – for she had time to see his face and recognise it while the curiously heavy cup was flying at his head – saw it coming and ducked behind the protection of the door, closing it behind him and letting the cup fall aimlessly to the floor, where it rolled slightly. 

“ _Pith mixt,”_ he muttered darkly as he shoved the door back open and made sure she had no more projectiles close at hand.  “Come, girl. Serving is now.  Morning.” He gestured expansively at something behind him.  The echoing screams still fresh in her memory, Vicky stepped forward cautiously, unwilling to blithely walk into her own death. 

“Who was screaming?” she asked her captor/guide as he led her down the twisting hallway again.  Talking kept the fear at bay, and Maxtare seemed more puzzled by her than intimidating. 

“Zain,” came the answer after Maxtare had worked through the question.  “He shot with _allum._ ” At her frown, he tried again.  “Ar… Arrow?”  Drawing his arm back, he pantomimed a bow being fired, and she nodded in comprehension.  “ _Allum smir na zen,”_ he continued.  “Bad… bad arrow.  _Smir._ ”

As Vicky felt her mood lightening at Maxtare’s pitiful attempts to communicate, the only thing that she could think of was _Stockholm Syndrome._   “What does _smir_ mean?” she pressed, committing the phrases to memory. 

“The arrow, it is… deadly.” Maxtare threw his hands up with frustration.  “In blood.  Scratch kills.”

Comprehension dawned.  “It was poisoned?” He brightened, nodding.

“Yes, poison.  _Smir._   Zain shot in leg,” he tapped his thigh, “but this poison, it kill him.  Very hurt.” 

“Painful,” Vicky corrected automatically, the years of public school teachers’ training and a lifetime of reading preventing her from letting anyone mangle English if she could help it.  “If it hurts, it’s painful.”

“Very painful,” Maxtare agreed, grinning boyishly.  Vicky smiled back, and then they were through the doorway and into the large room from the night before.  Immediately her good mood evaporated.  “Serve here first.  Drinks.”  Maxtare directed her towards the small group of humans, huddling in the corner until one of the Mir’naam gathered around the multitude of tables gestured in the air with his cup.  Immediately one of the humans separated from the group, rushing over with a skin of some liquid, refilling the cup before darting back into the corner.

 _Doesn’t seem so hard,_ Vicky thought optimistically.  She was here, she was a slave, but at least she was alive.  And she wasn’t alone.  That was the most important part.

*

By the time night fell, and Vicky was escorted back to the tiny cell that had become unofficially ‘hers’, she was exhausted.  There was a never-ending supply of cups to be filled, plates to be brought, and food to be served, and although the worst she ever received was a harsh look or a stern word, the work was still exhausting to someone used to easy living. 

Maxtare met her in her room, bringing her more food and another goblet.  “Water,” he told her, holding it out.  Vicky drank deeply, thirsty enough to be beyond caring if any of it were poisoned. 

“Thank you,” she said, and he grinned again, setting the tray of food down on the table.  As she was seated on the cot, Maxtare settled himself easily on the floor, legs cocked out at jaunty angles and leaned back on his hands.  Vicky looked down at him in surprise, and a little nostalgia; he looked like her friend Andrew when he sat like that.  

“Talk,” he said.  “Teach.  I teach, you teach.” He wasn’t in his armour this time, and was dressed in clothes remarkable similar to the ones Vicky was still wearing.  She was beginning to feel grimy; it had been days since she’d washed, and she was still in the same clothes she’d worked and slept in.  His dark hair was cut short around his ears, which protruded in the same delicately long way that Jonas’ had, reaching past the back of his head.  The only difference was the colour of their skin; where Jonas had been tanned to a golden glow, Maxtare was so dark he almost blended with his black clothing. 

“Teach?” she asked after a moment spent examining him.  He nodded, reminding her once again of a teenager, or someone her own age.

“I teach you… Mir’naam words, and ways.  You are not hit, you are new.  Soon if they unhappy, they hit you.  I teach you not to get hit.  You teach me… English.  I speak bad.”  He looked so hopefully worried about her, that Vicky couldn’t find it in her to deny his request.  And he was, in his own strange way, looking out for her; she’d seen one of the bulkier soldiers at dinner strike one of the small working girls so hard her arm had been broken. 

“You speak badly,” she corrected, wondering how one went about teaching English to an elf. 

“I speak badly,” he parroted.  His eyes, a deep crimson colour, sparkled.  “You move quickly when called,” he suggested.  “Make no reason for angry.”

It took her a moment to figure out his curious syntax.  “Don’t make them mad?” she asked, and he nodded.

“That as well.  If you good-”

“Are good-“

“If you are good, they will not hurt you.”  He frowned speculatively as she absorbed this information.  “ _Nemra mixt ith?_ ” 

Vicky started, trying to work through the words.  “Excuse me?”

“You excuse – you are excused,” he corrected himself, grinning impishly.  She scowled.

“Nemra mixed ith?” she repeated, and he shook his head.

“ _Nemra mixt ith,”_ he said again, enunciating slowly. 

“ _Nemra mixt ith,”_ she said carefully, and he nodded.

“ _Nemar_ Maxtare.  Max,” he added hopefully.

Vicky took a stab in the dark as to what he was saying.  “What… what is your name?” At his nod, she smiled.  “You’re Maxtare.”

“Max,” he insisted.  She grinned despite herself.

“I’m Victoria,” she told him.  “Nem… _Nemar?_ ” At his nod, she continued. _“Nemar_ Victoria.”

He drew back a little, puzzled.  “Veek…tora?”  Her grin widened.

“Vicky.”

“Veeky,” he said firmly, proud of himself. “I see you tomorrow, Veeky.”

She giggled in spite of herself.  “See you tomorrow, Max.” He waved, and bounded off the floor and out the door in one smooth motion. 

*

This schedule kept up for the entire week Vicky spent in the Mir’naam camp.  Max taught her new words daily, and his English improved just as quickly.  She was quick enough in what she called the ‘tavern’ – where the majority of the off-duty Mir’naam soldiers gathered to eat, drink, and relax – that she’d never received more than a dirty look from any of them, even the ones that Max warned her were particularly volatile.  She actually felt that she was settling into some sort of a routine, that it wasn’t as bad as she thought. 

That was the day the Mir’lian captives were brought in.

            Vicky was woken up by Max and escorted to the Tavern at the usual time.  She ate quickly, and began her usual duties when there was a disturbance by the entranceway; several blond heads, conspicuous in their brightness, crowded into the room, prodded occasionally by knives and long spears.  Vicky paused in her waitressing, watching the spectacle and wondered what had caused it.  Max wasn’t among those gathered, nor the ones who’d just come in; absently, she wondered where her almost-friend had gotten off to. 

            The utter stillness and dead silence was the only warning any of them received before chaos erupted in the form of flashing blades and shouts of pain.  In what seemed like seconds, the Mir’lian hostages had overwhelmed their captors, fighting long blades and spears with knives and hands – and _winning._   More light-skinned elves poured into the room, and the remaining Mir’naam dropped their weapons and surrendered.  The humans who, like Vicky, had been captured as slaves wept with relief at the light elves entrance.

            “Rescue, Vicky! Rescue!” Starla, the tiny woman whose arm had been broken, rushed forward, calling back over her shoulder.  “The Mir’lian are here! We’re saved!”

            Vicky looked around for Max, more worried about his whereabouts than the advent of a group of elves she’d never met.  Her one experience with the Mir’lian had been Jonas Brightblade, and while she doubted he was a shining example of the race, he certainly hadn’t given her any favourable impressions.

            On the other hand, the Mir’naam – vilified and cursed by nearly everyone she’d come across yet – hadn’t been as bad as she’d supposed.  They weren’t pleasant, not at all, but Max was funny, and helpful, and kind… And she liked him.  She hoped that he hadn’t been among those escorting the Mir’lian, who had fallen with blades in their throats. 

            One of the Mir’lian contingent stepped up in front of her.  Vicky drew her attention to the newcomer, and noted that it was a woman.  Dark blond hair was pulled back under the minimal armour she wore over her head, and sea-green eyes were frighteningly piercing.  “You’re human,” she said, and Vicky, not in the mood to banter, simply inclined her head.

            “You’re not.”

            “Well spotted.  Would you like to come with us?  We’ll get you back to Kahlen, if that’s where you’re from.”

            Vicky considered the implications of this.  She was familiar with some of the people in Kahlen, and she figured that Zindra wouldn’t mind her staying there again.  On the other hand, she wasn’t meant to be here.  It had been more than a week since she’d arrived, and although she’d settled into the routine of serving the Mir’naam, it wasn’t the way she’d expected to spend the rest of her life.  “I’m not from Kahlen,” she said.  “I’m not from here at all.  I belong in Virginia.”   

            “Earth?” The prospect seemed to startle the elvish woman, and she peered at Vicky with more intensity.  “I suspect that will be a story in and of itself.  Very well, I’ll take you to the captain.”

            _Jonas Brightblade, First Captain among the Royal Order of Warriors from the kingdom of Shu’ma._

            “Oh no, not Jonas.”  Vicky groaned at the prospect of seeing him again, here of all places.  The elvish warrior gave her a somewhat harsh look.

            “Don’t speak of him that way,” she commanded.  “Jonas is a wonderful captain.  He’s so very strong, and brave.”   Her voice turned more kindly.  “You must be the one he told me he rescued in the Kah’makh.  Jonas is such a hero.”  The words were friendly, but there was something about her that set Vicky on edge.  The people of Kahlen had learned to accept that the Mir’naam were a threat, and went out of their way to avoid them.  For someone who was not only unfamiliar with the Mir’naam, but with Eversong itself, she deduced that the girl’s journey must have been much harder than it had seemed on the surface.  “Worry not,” she continued.  “Jonas is in Shu’marra.  His sister, Danica is Second Captain, and she’s the one who lead us here.  The only problem now is finding her amidst all this chaos.  My name is Neena.  And yours?” 

            Vicky opened her mouth to answer, but before she could draw the breath to do so an excited shout came from behind her.

            “Veeky!”

            She whirled, smiling to see Max unhurt.  Neena tensed beside her, but made no move towards him as he was unarmed.  “Max!” It took every ounce of Vicky’s self control not to hug him. She didn’t, after all, know him that well, and Neena’s bristling seemed sharp enough that any sudden move from any of them would end with Max dead.

            “Veeky, I was worried about you when I returned and found our camp overrun with the _plexthta_ Mir’lian.  They are treating you well?” he inquired, shooting a dark glance at Neena, who scowled.

            “Better than you _pithniya_ Mir’naam have treated her.  _Amin delotha nama lle_ ,” she spat.  “I hate every single last one of you.  What happened to that rotten princess was too good.  The Mir’naam should all be put down like the murderous dogs they are.”

            This was going to get ugly, Vicky could see, and she stepped between the two of them, and coughed loudly.  “Enough of this.  Max hasn’t hurt anyone,” she asserted. 

            “ _Amin ruwa,”_ Neena muttered darkly.

            “Doubt my fist in your-” Max started, balling his fingers up, but Vicky stopped him. 

            “ _Baffa da,_ Max, _”_ she said in the Mir’naam language.  _Stop it._   He relaxed even as Neena tensed further.

            “ _Mani ume lle quera?”_ she demanded, and Vicky looked at her blankly.  “What did you say?  You speak their language?”

            Vicky’s opinion of Neena had ranged from curious indifference right through hostile irritation.  “No,” she snapped, and folded her arms across her chest, refusing to look at either one of them.  Max seemed puzzled by this, but Neena leapt ahead of her.

            “You want him to stay pretty, you come with me to see the Captain.” It wasn’t a request.  Vicky stared at her, and then glanced at Max. 

            “I’ll see you again,” she promised.  “Keep working on your English, it’s good.” She waved at him as Neena stalked off. 

            “Good-bye, Veeky,” Max said with a wistful smile.  “Thank you for your help.” He vanished back into the catacombs that made up the Mir’naam underground camp, off on some unspecified errand.  When Vicky found her way back to Neena, she found the girl receiving a furious tongue-lashing from someone who could only be the Second Captain, Danica.

            She looked like a female version of her brother.  Dark, almost black hair fell down her back in orderly waves, held in out of her face by her helm.  Golden eyes flashed angrily as she lit into Neena in the fluid Mir’lian language, so quickly that Vicky couldn’t keep up with the minimal amount of words she’d learned.  Her choler expended, she turned to Vicky with a friendly smile on her face, and switched languages easily.

            “Hello, Earth Girl,” she said politely.  “My name’s Danica Skyheart, I’m the captain of this raiding party.  Our original objective was to release any captives – not to antagonise them.”  She gave Neena a serious look. Chastened, Neena kept her eyes on the floor.  “I’d like to invite you to come back to Shu’marra with me.” At Vicky’s uncomprehending look, she smiled again.  “Galahan’s home.  The surrounding town is Shu’mar, and the area around both castle and town is just known as Shu’ma.  It can get confusing for the new and uninitiated.”  She barked an order to the soldier nearest her, and they sprung into action, hurrying out of the room on whatever business Danica had commanded.

            Vicky raised her estimation of the woman.  “I’ll go,” she said slowly.  “If you can promise me that you’ll help me find my way home again.”

            “I can promise you that, Earth Child.” Danica’s tone was reverent.  “Have you any belongings to be gathered?”

            The bag she’d bought in Kahlen hadn’t left her waist since she’d bought it.  Nor had anything come out of it but a change of clothes.  “It’s all in here,” she said, gesturing to it. Danica nodded approvingly.

            “Good.  We get back on the road in an hour.  It’s a day and a half’s walk back to Shu’ma.  Make sure you’re rested and well fed.”  Her business concluded, Danica turned on her heel and swept out of the room, presumably off to supervise the rest of her raiding party.  Neena glowered darkly at her, but said nothing.  Vicky found a chair at one of the tables and sat down in it, trying to absorb the change in her circumstances.

            _All I want is to get home!_


	4. Chapter 4

            Once away from the stress and pressures of the Mir’naam camp, Danica’s tense mood improved heartily, and she proved to be a most excellent traveling companion.  Vicky walked next to her for much of the journey, and absorbed everything she was told.  The captain was an unending wellspring of information about the world Vicky now found herself in, and was even teaching her to speak Mir’lian as they went.

            “We in Shu’marra’s guard take our job very seriously,” Danica said, motioning the rest of her party.  “The Mir’naam have become enough of a threat over the last several decades that we organise these raids in order to disrupt their plan.  Up until now, they haven’t been too serious of a problem, but they’re beginning to organise themselves better, and present more of a threat.  Thirty years ago, I would never have walked into a Mir’naam camp and come away with freed servants.  The skaal have been getting worse, too.  It’s all been very troubling.  There are very legends about one who will return to Eversong and set right ancient wrongs, but we gave up hope of a miraculous rescue when Zeeki died and things went to hell.

            “Now that you’re safe, I’d like for you to tell me everything you learned while you were within the camp.  Neena said you were speaking to one of _them_ like he was your friend.”

            Vicky took immediate offense to the inflection Danica placed on ‘them’.  “Max was my friend,” she said sternly, suddenly doubting her decision to remain with the Mir’lian.  “And he didn’t teach me anything you’d find useful.  Words, mostly, in the language, and how to get by without getting beaten up.”

            Danica nodded, ignoring the subtly hostile tone in Vicky’s voice.  “Words are useful,” she said.  “If you speak their language, they’re either going to trust you more, or they’ll say things around you without knowing you understand.”  For all that she was very pretty, Danica was undeniably a soldier.  Having grown up in Virginia Beach, with all the bases nearby, Vicky wasn’t impressed.  “Would you like me to teach you Mir’lian?” the captain asked after a long silence. 

            Vicky nodded, thinking that it would be a good memory; she didn’t intend to stay long enough to make any real use of it. 

*

            They stopped that night long after the sun had gone down, and Vicky was forcibly reminded that this was not her home; two moons rose in the bluish-purple sky, outshining the numerous but unfamiliar constellations.  The Mir’lian made a quick camp, and settled down to eat.  Vicky was asleep almost as soon as she finished and lay down.  Her last waking thought was _I wonder what two moons do to the tide?_

The next morning, Vicky was woken as the sun was rising and given a chance to wash quickly and change her clothes.  Her hair hung in stringy clumps, filthy from going unwashed so long.  She made a face at it, and simply tied it back with the small fabric strip she’d been given for that purpose.  Danica noted the expression, and stopped her just as the others were rolling up the small tents and kicking out the fires.

            “What troubles you?”  The words were spoken in the Mir’lian language that Vicky had so recently begun to learn.

            Vicky stared at her for a minute, puzzled.  “I’m sorry?” she asked finally, unable to connect Danica’s words to anything specific. 

            “You seem unhappy, is all.”  This was said in English, although it was tempered by a smug smile from Danica.

            “I’m just dirty,” Vicky complained.  “I’m used to bathing every day at home, and I haven’t had the chance for almost two weeks.” Strangely, this fact was enough to bring tears to her eyes.  _Home!_

            “You will be given the finest accommodations we can provide when we reach Shu’marra,” Danica said kindly.  “Lord Galahan will of course see to it that you are returned to your home as soon as is possible, but while you are within our care, you will lack for nothing.”

            “How long until we get there?” Vicky asked, already sick of walking.  A luxurious bath, some good food, and a warm bed sounded heavenly.

            “We should arrive in Shu’ma by mid-day.  Shu’mar and the castle are only another hours walk from the border.”  The captain lapsed into silence, and Vicky let the conversation wane, thinking about languages.  The speed with which she was learning both Mir’naam and Mir’lian was astonishing.

*

            As Shu’marra came into view as they crested a small hill, Vicky stopped and stared.  The majestic castle with its sprawling look and skyscraper-like towers was nestled into the surrounding forest like an egg in the grass.  She was struck by a sense of déjà-vu, and stood staring down at the edifice and walled town that surrounded it, trying to place the familiarity.

            Danica didn’t allow her to gape for too long for after a few minutes, she put her hand on Vicky’s shoulder and gently propelled her down the hill.  As they came closer, the castle seemed to grow larger and larger, until it dwarfed the returning war party.  Danica pounded on the gate, shouting something Vicky didn’t catch, and then the massive wooden gateway was hauled open, and a city the size of Manhattan spread out before them.  Vicky’s breath caught in her throat. The full, mid-day sun seemed to set the city on fire, blazing colour reflected from every available surface.  “Come on in,” Danica beckoned, stepping lightly into the city.  The rest of her party filtered in after her, and Vicky marveled that they could all be so blasé about such a beautiful place.

              “Welcome.” Danica’s voice was rich and warm, and Vicky returned the smile the captain bestowed on her.  “Welcome to Shu’mar, Traveler from Earth.”


	5. Chapter 5

            “Dan!”

            A vaguely familiar voice rang out amid the confusion of the returning warriors, and Vicky and Danica both turned to seek the source.  As Danica’s smile widened, Vicky felt her own expression melt into something far less welcoming.  The man coming down the road was the same she’d met in the forest; Jonas Brightblade.  This time he was unarmed, though his clothes were of the same design and colour. 

            “Good to see you, brother,” Danica said, and placed her hand on his shoulder.  He nodded to her, and then looked over her crew.  When his eyes settled on Vicky, he scowled.

            “Oh, it’s you,” he said sourly.  Vicky put her hands on her hips, scowling back at him.  Danica looked between them, puzzled.

            “You know each other?”

            “I found her in Kah’makh, the woods outside Kahlen.  She was being chased by a skaal.”  He turned his attention from his sister, glowering at Vicky.  “Didn’t I leave you in Kahlen? What are you doing here?”

            Her dislike for him settled like a weight in her stomach.  “Trying to get home,” she ground out between clenched teeth.  She would have said more – thrown some of his own nastiness back in his face, if she could – but he turned his attention from her, and demanded details from Danica.  Too happy to oblige, Danica lapsed into the musical Mir’lian language, apparently updating him on the outcome of her sojourn.

            Momentarily forgotten, Vicky took the opportunity to study some of the nearby buildings, noting that despite their proximity to the walls, and distance from the castle at the center, they were in surprisingly good shape.  Most of the walls were white or grey, with fantastic murals decorating much of the siding.  The majority of the people she saw were like Danica and Jonas, graceful in their every motion and with the distinctively long ears all the Eversong elves – Mir’lian and Mir’naam – had.  There were few enough humans that she stuck out, and she felt exposed in the throngs of people hurrying back and forth on errands of their own.

            After Danica’s band had completely dissipated, the woman turned back to Vicky.  “Come on, we’re going on to Shu’marra.  Galahan will want to see you.”

            Jonas made a rude noise.  “Why are you taking her there?  She’s not worth much.”  Danica turned a stony stare on him, and he subsided into silence.  Vicky sniffed, ignoring him.  This didn’t seem to trouble the first captain as much as it would have some of the boys Vicky was used to dealing with; he honestly didn’t seem to care that she was ignoring him.  _He really isn’t doing it for any reason,_ she told herself.  _He’s just an asshole by nature, it seems._

Despite the vastness of the city and the crowded streets, it only took the trio scant minutes to arrive at the front gates of the towering edifice at the center.  Vicky ignored her companions, silently taking in everything around her.  Briefly, she wondered if she’d ever get home, and she quelled the thought as quickly as it came, unwilling to consider such a prospect.  Danica opened the gate and stepped inside.  Jonas, ignoring his sister and Vicky, strode quickly inside, leaving them behind. 

            “Don’t take offense,” Danica advised.  “He’s _simpara_ to everyone.”

            “He’s what?”

            Danica’s eyes glittered with humour.  “He’s an asshole.”

            Vicky burst into ringing laughter, echoed a moment later by Danica.  Ahead of them, Jonas’ stride lengthened, his back ramrod stiff, but he didn’t look back.

*

            Vicky had been awarded the time to bathe and change clothes before being brought to Galahan – who, from Danica’s explanations, seemed to be the Mir’lian king – and she was grateful for the opportunity. 

            Sinking into the spacious tub with her hair piled on top of her head, Vicky was willing to forgive anyone anything.  The water was just the right temperature, and was scented with something indefinable, yet almost familiar.  Two young serving girls stood nearby, waiting on any instructions she saw fit to give them.  Before leaving Vicky in the room, Danica had explained that all servants in Shu’marra were there willingly, and were both paid for their work, and treated well.  There were no slaves in Shu’marra, and hostility towards the servers was not permitted.  Generally easygoing in the first place, and uncomfortable with being waited on in the second, Vicky had assured her that the girls would come to no harm under her direction.

            “Miss, are you really from another world?” one of them asked shyly after she’d dunked her head beneath the water.  The second one was behind her, rubbing a pleasant-smelling soap into her hair.

            Vicky smiled wistfully.  “I am,” she said.  “I don’t know how I came to be here, or how I’m going to get home, though.”

            “Must you go home?” asked the hair-washer.  “Are you unhappy here in Eversong?”

            Vicky was silent for a long time, mulling over the idea of happiness versus unhappiness.  “Not unhappy, no,” she said at long last.  “It hasn’t been the greatest experience – I was attacked by a skaal about five minutes after I arrived -” the girls gasped in horror “- and then abducted by the Mir’naam and forced into slavery, but… it wasn’t so bad, I guess.”

            The hair-washer shuddered behind her.  “What a horrible fate.  You must be grateful to be here,” she suggested.  Vicky shrugged.

            “It wasn’t horrible,” she repeated.  “I made a friend.  I hope he’ll be okay.  What are your names, anyway?”

            “Janella,” offered the hair-washer, tilting her head back over the edge of the tub and pouring water through her hair to rinse it. 

            “Alindra,” said the other girl, who was just coming back with an armful of clothes.  “And your name, miss?” Alindra added curiously.

            “Victoria Crawford,” Vicky said.  “But you can call me Vicky.”

            “Vicky,” they tried out.  “It’s a very unusual name,” Janella said, and offered her a towel from the top of Alindra’s armful.  Vicky stood, feeling self-conscious, but the girls primly averted their eyes until she’d wrapped the towel around her body. It was wonderfully soft and absorbent; already the water was drying on her skin where the towel had rubbed.  Vicky gave an experimental wiggle, and the towel released a scent similar to the one she’d bathed in.  She inhaled deeply, enjoying it.  Janella lead her to a small screened off area, and handed her the clothes.  Vicky dressed in silence, and Alindra appeared when she was clothed and offered to brush her hair out for her.

            When she was dry and presentable, the two girls lead her down the twisting maze of corridors that made up Shu’marra, chattering happily to her about castle life.

*

            Galahan’s throne room – or what Vicky assumed was his throne room; it was stately enough, and was headed by a large chair situated on a dais behind a long table – was the size of her high school gymnasium.  That had been large enough to accommodate the entire student body of nearly four thousand kids at one time, and Vicky imagined that the whole population of the castle – a small city in and of itself – would be able to assemble easily, with room to spare.

            The walls were covered in detailed tapestries, depicting epic battles between the Mir’naam and the Mir’lian, and against dragons and skaal, interspersed with happier stories of lovely woman and heroic-looking men gazing at each other affectionately.  A massive map took up the entirety of the back wall, and Vicky studied it as she was lead past it.  Familiar names leapt out at her; Kahlen and Shu’ma most notably.  She paused there to study the paths she’d taken since arriving in Eversong, and wondered that she had done so much traveling in so short a time. 

            Danica appeared at her side unexpectedly as Janella and Alindra disappeared back through the doorway they’d entered by.  “Eversong,” she said, unnecessarily.  Vicky turned to her, speculatively.

            “Jonas said he found me about five miles from Kahlen,” she said, and pointed to the area she thought was correct.  Danica nodded after a moment, calculating distance in her mind.  “I think that I came into Eversong here -” she pointed to the river that flowed through the forest “- and that’s probably where I should go to get back.”

            Danica shrugged.  “It’s possible.  Come now, Galahan’s ready to see you.  If anyone can get you home, it’ll be him.” 

            Vicky paled suddenly as it dawned on her that she was about to meet a _king._  Danica noted her expression and translated it accurately.

            Laughing, she laid a hand on Vicky’s shoulder.  “Don’t worry.  He doesn’t bite.”  She considered for a moment, and then added, “Jonas might, however.”  Vicky shot her a look that said she was not amused, and then followed the second captain up to the table.

            It was set with a lavish banquet, the exotic food both colourful and aromatic.  Vicky’s stomach grumbled irritably as she inhaled the scents wafting from the table.  The man in the chair – he could only be Galahan – rose as she approached the table, Danica a respectful two steps behind her.

            “You must be Victoria,” he said, and his voice was friendly, almost paternal.  He reminded her of her father, which was at once comforting and disorienting.  “Welcome to Shu’marra,” he continued.  “Please, sit, eat, and tell me how you’ve come to be here.”

            Vicky lost her shyness, and settled herself in the chair he indicated – the one directly before him, to her surprise.  Danica sat down next to her, and Jonas appeared not long afterwards; he chose the seat next to his sister, in front of the woman Vicky guessed was the queen. 

            “My name is Galahan Flamestar.  This is my wife, Mayra, and my daughter, Ember.” He gestured to each of the ladies sitting beside him.  Vicky guessed that Ember wasn’t much younger than herself, and smiled at her.  Ember smiled back, waving a little.  Galahan frowned, and muttered something in Mir’lian.  Ember looked at him and shrugged.  “I regret to say that my errant son will not be joining us tonight; he seems to have vanished into the woodworks.”

            “Victoria Crawford,” Vicky introduced herself, and wondered at the sharp look Galahan afforded her.  It vanished behind his genial expression almost immediately, and she set the memory aside to think on later.  As they ate, she told the story of finding the book in the store, the fountain with the spectacular carvings and how she fell into it.  Galahan and the rest of them ate in silence as she spoke, listening attentively.  When she was through, he frowned again.           

            “And you do not know what became of the book?” he queried; the frown deepened at the shake of her head.  “But you retained the key.  Do you still have it?”

            “It’s in my bag,” Vicky said, and reached into the bag she’d bought in Kahlen.  Galahan reached for it, and she handed it over reluctantly, and watched as he turned it over in his hand, peering at the carvings.

            “This is a most … intricate key,” he said.  “Do you know what it belongs to?” Vicky shook her head again.  “Most intriguing,” he said quietly, and gave it back to her.  “There is a door deep within the palace,” he said suddenly.  “It has been sealed shut for fifty years, ever since the war with the Mir’naam began.”

            Vicky suddenly remembered what Rowan had told her, so many weeks ago.  _“She was always such a bright little girl, very happy, looked forward to going to see Ember.”_   

            _The war started fifty years ago? She can’t be fifty years old, she looks eighteen at the most.  But Rowan said Zeeki was looking forward to visiting with her._

            As if he were reading her thoughts, Galahan smiled benignly.  “We of the _Mir_ are not immortal, but our lives are much extended beyond human norms.  Ember is perhaps seventeen in human years, although she has been alive for nearly seventy five solar years.”  Ember blushed slightly to have been singled out.  “A personal theory of mine is that there is something about living in Eversong that increases life-spans; the humans who live here are all much longer lived than those of Earth.”

            Vicky’s head jerked up at that.  “What do you know of Earth?” she asked him, a little sharply.  She flushed, and modified it.  “I thought Eversong and Earth were two different places.  Eversong is just a book in my world.”  _Is Earth just a book here? I wonder what that story would say._

“Humans as you know them are not native to Eversong. They have migrated here, possibly by similar ways as you have traveled.”  He smiled wistfully, lost in private thoughts for a long moment.  “Some manage to go back.  In the past, they have used the doorway, the _Eimerli,_ to travel from Eversong to Earth.  Only humans may use it; the _Mir_ are simply… not allowed to pass through the doorway.  However, it has been sealed since the war began, as I said.  I believe that the Eimerli is your best chance to return home – if we can unseal it.  This key may be a part of that.  Please, feel free to make yourself at home in the meantime; I will do everything I possibly can to unseal the door and allow you to get home.”

            Hope warred with despair in Vicky’s heart.  There was a way, and it wasn’t likely to be the river, but it was going to be pure chance.  _What if he can’t unseal it? What if I’m stuck here forever?_

A small voice in the back of her head piped up unexpectedly. _Would that be so bad?_

*

            Vicky spent much of the next week exploring the castle.  Alindra was an excellent guide, and all too happy to shuck her duties in favour of leading Vicky on tours, and teaching her more of the language.  She met Galahan every night for dinner, and her heart grew heavier each day when he shook his head over the table and told her that he’d come no closer to unsealing the Eimerli.  By the end of the week, she’d fallen into a deep depression.  Nothing Alindra or Janella said could draw her out of it. 

            Galahan was unhappy with his own results.  “You are not a prisoner here, Victoria,” he told her on the seventh night.  She mustered up a small smile for his sake; he was trying hard, for her – a total stranger, who’d simply shown up on his doorstep one day.  She knew that in the world she’d come from, no one would have done anything similar.  They were too wrapped up in their cell phones and iPods and laptops to even hold doors open or say ‘Thank you’ any more, much less take care of other people.  She was unutterably grateful to him for everything he’d done so far, and continued to do, and told him so.

            “We will find a way to return you to your home, Victoria,” he said kindly.  “Do not fret.  In the meantime, if there is anything I can do for you please do not hesitate to ask for it.  Anything that it is within my power to give, it will be yours.”

            Vicky mused on his words the next day.  She was visiting with Danica, who was currently training with her sword in order to keep both her body and her skills in peak condition.  It was from watching Danica that she had the idea.

            “Will you teach me that?” she asked quietly.  Danica lowered the sword, and looked at her appraisingly. 

            “I think I will,” she said.  Both women smiled at each other.

*

            Vicky’s training began the next day.  They were using wooden mock-swords, and the first thing Danica taught her was how to hold it, and the various types of weapons, from dirks, daggers, short swords, long swords, two-handed swords, and double-edged swords.  It set Vicky’s head spinning, but she dutifully learned everything Danica put to her. 

            She was a week in learning the proper way to swing her arm, shift her weight to accommodate the sword, and fall without hurting herself or letting her guard down.  The lessons left her winded and exhausted, but feeling happier that she was _learning_ something instead of moping around uselessly.  Neena was a frequent visitor to her lessons, watching her trying to learn to fight in silence, or arguing quietly with a shadow of her own.  Vicky learned from Danica that he was Lukus Riverspear, a soldier in the army who was utterly smitten with Neena, despite the fact that Neena herself had eyes only for Jonas, who disdained them all.

            By the end of her first month in Shu’marra, Danica pronounced her ready for a bigger challenge.  “How are you at horseback riding?” the captain said casually one afternoon, during a rest period from their exertions.  Vicky poured a skin of water down her throat before she could answer. 

            “I’ve never done it before,” she admitted.  “But I’ve always loved horses.” Danica smiled at her.

            “That’s a perfect place to start.  A horse should be your friend and companion; not just a tool that you would use and discard like a piece of trash.” She was in Danica-the-Teacher mode again, and Vicky absorbed her words raptly.  When Danica offered to take her down to the stables, she smiled.

            “I’d love that,” she said.  “ _Diole lle._ ”

            Her Mir’lian had become so proficient that they often spoke no English for days on end.  Danica was good for her word, and the next day, instead of a lesson in sword-play, the captain took her down into the stables.  They were closer to Shu’mar than the castle itself, situated ideally between the two, where the citizens of Shu’mar could also stable their horses. 

            Vicky inhaled deeply when they arrived, thinking of happier times at fairs and Busch Gardens, when her favourite place to be was wherever the horses were.  Danica smiled at her, and lead her to the middle of the Shu’marran stables.  “This is _Ashvintanakh,_ ” she said, and opened the stall door where a magnificent black mare was resting.  “I believe it translates to ‘Swift as Wind’ in English.  We call her Tana for short.  From now on, she’s yours.  You won’t need to care for her much, unless you desire to.” Danica stroked Tana’s nose as she spoke, and the horse nickered quietly.  “When we ride, however, it will be up to you to make sure she’s fed and watered, and clean, and that her tack is clean, and that she lacks for nothing.  Are you capable of this?”

            Vicky, who was in love with Tana already, nodded her assent.  Her throat was too tight for her to speak for a long moment, and she contented herself with letting Tana sniff her hands and clothes.  Danica snuck an apple into Vicky’s free hand, and the girl smiled gratefully at her before offering it to Tana, who accepted the gift and then sniffed at her bag in case she was hiding any more treats.  “I think we’ll get on beautifully, Ashvintanakh” Vicky said, her voice full of wonder.  “My Tana.”

            Danica’s face was warm as she watched the two of them getting to know one another.

*

            From that day forth, Vicky’s lessons included horseback riding as well as swordplay.  They saw mercifully little of Jonas, as he was often out of the city on ‘duty’ – Vicky laughed at the mental images it brought to mind of her aunt Bethany, who after twenty years in the Navy was taking the Chief’s test. 

            Vicky and Danica strapped their wooden swords on one day, and went out riding.  At first Vicky thought it was an exercise in riding with an unwieldy bulk at her side, for the sword – approximately the same length and weight as her real sword, which hung unused in her suite – was throwing her balance off, and constantly jabbed into her side at unexpected moments.

            When Danica wheeled on Arbitram and turned to face Tana and Vicky, she knew that today would probably involve swordplay from horseback.  Danica had been hinting that it was the next step, though she never came out and said when they would start. “Draw,” Danica ordered, pulling her sword from its makeshift sheathe.  Vicky tried to follow her motions, but the sword was too long, and Tana’s neck was in the way of the usual arcing path her hand took when removing the sword from her belt.  It took her a few tries, and Danica refused to allow the lesson to continue until she managed to get the sword out quickly and smoothly. 

            Tana’s ears went back, and she pranced a few steps, recognising the shift in her rider’s weight that signified a battle was about to begin.  Without warning, Danica swung.  Vicky’s sword came up automatically to field the blow, but got tangled in the reins.  Ever patient, Danica waited until she was clear of them, forced her to lower the sword, and then circled around her a few times before trying again.  They went through this exercise several times, until Vicky was capable of getting the sword maneuvered around the horse and bridle. 

            Then she was forced to sheathe it again, and they started all over again.  It was not the most fascinating work, and her arm felt leaden when they were done, but by the end of the day, Danica nodded in approval and told her that she wasn’t a total loss when it came to training. “We’ll make a soldier out of you yet, Vicky,” she said, smiling.

            Vicky laughed at her.  “I would be the worst soldier ever,” she countered. 

            Danica shook her head.  “If you started now, you would be,” she admitted.  Vicky laughed again.  “But even though I doubt you’ll ever need to use these skills, if you were in training for the Guard, we certainly wouldn’t send you out into the field like this, half trained.  By the time I’m done with you, you _will_ be able to out-fight any of our guard.”

            “Any of the guard?”

            “Any of them.  You don’t think I made captain for my pretty face, do you?” Danica batted her eyelashes, and Vicky laughed.  Streaked with mud and sweat, Danica wasn’t at her best when they trained, and she knew it.  “It’s good to hear you laugh,” she commented on the way back to the stables.  “Galahan was worried about you for a while.  We all were.”

            Vicky’s mood turned pensive.  “It wouldn’t… be so bad, to be stuck here,” she said finally.  “I miss my parents, terribly, and they’re probably still worried sick over me, or think I’m dead, which is terrible.  But it’s … nice here.  I didn’t have much of a life at home.”

            Danica shrugged.  “Who needs a life?” she joked, but reached out and placed a comforting hand on Vicky’s shoulder, the touch belying her light-hearted words.  Over the course of the last few weeks, Vicky had learned that the Mir’lian didn’t hug each other; hugging was reserved for family members and lovers.  If any contact happened at all, it was a brief touch on the shoulder or wrist, or occasionally hair. 

            “I’m glad that you can find it in you to be happy here,” Danica said after a pensive silence.  “I’m glad that you don’t hate us for not being able to help.”

            Vicky twisted in the saddle to look at her mentor and friend, riding several horse-lengths behind her.  “Why should I hate you?” she asked, honestly confused by the statement.  “You didn’t force me to come here. I wasn’t abducted, or sold into slavery.” Her lips twisted in a wry grin, remembering the week she’d spent among the Mir’naam.  “It was a total accident of fate that I ended up here, and you’ve all done everything you can to make sure it’s… okay.”

            Danica grinned at her, pleased.


	6. Chapter 6

            On the six-month mark of her entry into Eversong, Vicky found herself in the training room with Danica.  They were fully armoured, and were using their real swords for the first time since her training began.  The room was spacious, and padded with soft mats, liberally spotted with cuts and dents where previous trainees had fallen or missed their mark. 

            “This is a serious test of skill,” Danica announced in her “Trainer Voice.” She lifted her head and straightened her back, gripping her sword without drawing it.  “Don’t feel like this is the be-all and end-all of your training, however.  We’ve still got far to go.  This is mostly for me to see how much you’ve learned, and what we need to work on.”

            Vicky nodded, and bent her knees slightly, one hand on the hilt of her sword, waiting for Danica’s signal to begin the mock-battle. 

            “Now!”

            Blades flashed in the light streaming in from the windows that surrounded the room, and metal rang against metal as they crashed together for the first time.  Vicky swung again, careful to control the movement so as to not over-balance herself and give Danica an opening.  The captain pressed her, digging for a break in her guard, and Vicky was determined not to give her the chance.  Using her free hand to counter-balance the weight of the sword in her hand the way Danica had taught her, Vicky ducked under the swipe of her trainer’s blade and got in a good solid strike against the stiff leather armour the elvish captain wore.  Danica smiled encouragingly, but got her back for the hit a moment later by ducking low to the ground and sweeping Vicky’s feet out from underneath her.  Vicky crashed to the mat and rolled out of the way of the next swing, earning herself another nod of approval from Danica. 

            Using the momentum of her roll, Vicky carried herself to her feet, marveling in the way her body responded to the commands she gave it, noting in a faraway corner of her mind that this wouldn’t have been possible six months ago.  Danica noted her distraction, and used it to her advantage, pressing through Vicky’s guard and got in two whacks with the flat of her blade against Vicky’s hips.

            “Pay attention to me,” she said.  “If this were a true battle, you’d be incapacitated at the moment.  Don’t think that the Mir’naam will give you a chance to sit and daydream while you’re fighting them.  They strike hard, fast, and go for the kill.  You need to do nothing less.”

            Vicky returned her attention to the fight, ducking under Danica’s swing and stepping into her personal space.  With the dagger at her side drawn, she pressed it into Danica’s back, just above the top of the armour she wore.  “If this were a real fight, you’d be dead,” Vicky said smugly.  Danica conceded, and they took a short break.

            “You’ve improved,” she said admiringly.  “Jonas is going to piss himself when he sees you again.”

            Vicky laughed at the idea of fussy, uptight Jonas doing something so base as to piss himself over someone like her, and then realised that she hadn’t even thought of him in several weeks.  “Where is Jonas, anyway?”

            Danica chuckled, taking a long drink on the waterskin before passing it over.  “Staying in Kahlen and acting as unofficial protector with a few of his men.  The Mir’naam weren’t too happy about the raid I lead, when I destroyed half one of their biggest camps, and set most of their slaves free, and they started leaning on the town.  With Jonas out there, it takes care of two major problems; the humans are safe, and it gets him out of our hair for a while.” 

            The two shared a laugh at his expense, and then Danica stretched.  “Ready to start again?  This time I won’t go easy on you.”

            Vicky put her fists up.  “I’m tough, I can take it,” she joked, then climbed to her feet.  They circled each other slowly, each waiting for the other to make the first move. 

            Danica struck like lightning, her sword flashing in the waning light.  Half-blinded, Vicky struggled to retain her position, but found herself being pushed back by the unrelenting attack.  When her back was nearly to the wall, she finally found her stride and began swinging back, moving from defense to the offensive.  Danica fought back fiercely, her expression set in a stony mask as her sword whirled and danced. 

            Finally, Vicky began to tire, and it was then that Danica’s advantage overshadowed her.  The strikes came too fast for her waning strength to keep up with, and she faltered.  Danica struck her full in the chest with the flat of her blade, and as she tipped over backwards, leapt on her, sliding the tip of the sword against her unprotected throat.

            “Excellent job, Vicky,” she said after a few moments of silence.  Sheathing the sword, she offered her student a hand up off the floor.  “You did much better than I was expecting.”

            Vicky grinned at her, and wiped the sweat off her face.  “I need a bath,” she said, grimacing.  “I’ll see you at dinner,” she said, and made her way – slowly, for she was already starting to feel stiff and sore – out of the room and back to her own suite.

*

            Vicky had lounged in the bath for nearly two hours, entertaining herself with thoughts of her training sessions with Danica, and where this most recent one had gone wrong.  She was learning the form, and developing the strength, but she needed to work on her speed.  The captain’s lightning fast attacks had told her that much.  With this in mind, she decided that in the mornings, before her training began, she would begin running.  When she worked out the course and the time it took, she could begin setting limits for herself, and work at it until she improved.

            Once her course of action was settled, she drew herself up out of the water; Alindra and Janella were always nearby in case she needed anything, but she’d managed to impress upon them that she disliked being waited on hand and foot, and they kept a respectful distance while she took care of herself.  Now that she was done, Janella came forward, holding a towel and some clean clothes. 

            “Are you going straight down to dinner? It’s almost time.” 

            Vicky considered it, and then nodded.  “Yeah, I think I will.” Her stomach growled its approval, and the girls laughed.  Once she was dressed and the girls dismissed, Vicky strapped on her bag – it still went everywhere with her, no matter where she was going or what she was doing – and strode down the long corridors of Shu’marra. The few Mir’lian she passed on her way bowed respectfully, and one or two stopped her to ask after her health and the training she was undertaking.  Turning a sharp corner, her attention was arrested by the row of large, floor to ceiling length windows that spanned the entirety of the hall.  Outside, Shu’mar was settling in for the night, the streets emptying and the two luminous moons rising over the tops of the trees.  She sighed at the beauty of it, and wished briefly that there was someone with whom to share the sight with.  Motion at the edge of the wall drew her eyes, sharpened by Danica’s constant lessons on alertness.  There were several bodies climbing over the arch of the wall, right into the garden surrounding Shu’marra.  Her eyes narrowed; this was unusual.  The gates of Shu’mar were closed at sundown, locked and guarded because of the ever-constant threat of Mir’naam raids, but the gates leading into Shu’marra from the city were never locked – never even closed – and any citizen of Shu’mar who wished to enter the castle had only to walk up the path.  Given the time and location of the intruders, Vicky surmised that they were not there for a social visit, and she hurried her steps, almost running towards the dining hall.

            Galahan rose at her entrance, smiling warmly until he noticed the hard set of her mouth.  “Is anything the matter?” he asked solicitously, and she nodded.

            “There’s a group of people climbing the wall in the western garden,” she reported.  “I’m going to guess that they’re not supposed to be there.”

            Galahan’s expression mirrored her own.  “Indeed not,” he said with quiet firmness.  “Thank you for the timely warning, Victoria.  Danica,” he turned his attention to the captain, who rose from her seat.

            “I’ll take care of it, Asl’a.”  She strode out of the room, looking every inch the dangerous warrior she was.  Vicky took some fruit from the table, and hurried back down to the corridor with the windows, so that she could watch what was going on.  The moons were now high enough in the sky that she could see the full length of the gardens clearly.  Already Danica and her soldiers were creeping around the foliage, moving swiftly but – Vicky was sure – utterly silently.  The defenders sprang upon the intruders, startling them, and fell to the battle. 

            It wasn’t long before Vicky was aware of someone else in the hall with her.  Turning, she caught sight of Jonas’ face, half-illuminated by the moonlight streaming in.  They gazed at one another silently for several minutes, sizing each other up.  Vicky wondered what sort of picture she presented to him; there were very few mirrors in Shu’marra, and it had been a very long time since she’d felt the need for them.

            “You’re back,” she said finally, just to break the silence.  He flashed a feral grin, inclining his head.

            “I certainly am.  Did you miss me?” The words were mocking, the tone immediately setting Vicky’s teeth on edge.  She scowled at him.   
            “No,” she said firmly, and turned her attention back to the battle raging silently beneath her.  He chuckled, and for once it wasn’t a wholly unpleasant sound.  She flicked him a cool glance.

            “You speak more fluently since I’ve been gone,” he offered, and for a moment she wondered why he was prolonging an unwanted conversation.  Already, she was beginning to regret speaking.

            “Practice does make perfect,” she said.  “Although in your case, no amount of practice in the world can do anything for your atrocious manners.”

            He threw his head back and laughed.  Fed up, Vicky turned on her heel and stalked away, imagining all sorts of dire fates that could befall him between the place he presently stood and wherever his rooms happened to be.

            The evidence of his mirth followed her all the way back to the dining hall, echoing in her ears long after the sounds had faded from the corridors.  Unbeknownst to either of them, a pair of icy sea-green eyes watched the entire exchange before melting back into the darkness with a quiet hiss.


	7. Chapter 7

            Two days after the failed raid by the Mir’naam – for Danica had told her who the culprits were – Vicky was summoned to the dining hall.  This time it wasn’t for a meal, and the table was gone. 

            Galahan rose at her entrance, beckoning her, and his wife Mayra smiled at her and waved.  “Welcome, Victoria,” Galahan said formally.  “I would like to extend my most heart-felt thanks to you for the timely service you provided us with two nights ago.  It has been most distressing to me that I have been unable to find a way to return you to your home of origin, but I have been proud to have you here.  Your actions saved countless lives; we are indebted to you.”

            Vicky felt her throat tighten with emotion.  She stumbled over her words for a moment, and then inclined her head.  “Thank you,” she said.  “This place has become home to me.”

            Someone cleared their throat behind her.  “So does this mean we’re never getting rid of you?”

            Vicky turned, scowling as she realised it was Jonas.  _That man is nothing short of infuriating._   “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Kahlen?” _Hell? That’s where demons are supposed to reside._   She kept the snide remark to herself, and Jonas scowled right back at her, seeing the gist of it reflected in her expression.

            “No, in fact,” he said in a cheerful tone that belied the foul expression on his face. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”  He strolled up next to her, bowing from the waist to the two monarchs on the dais. 

            Just before it could deteriorate into something physical – Vicky found herself ready to do bodily harm to someone for the first time in her life – Mayra chuckled.  “I had no idea the two of you got on so well,” she said innocently.  Jonas and Vicky exchanged horrified looks.

            “Well?” she asked. “I can’t stand him.”

            “She’s useless,” Jonas countered.  Galahan looked flummoxed by the exchange, but Mayra chuckled again.

            “If you think that way, then it’s only fair that you take up her training while Danica’s away.”

            The horrified glances passed between them again.  Vicky was the first to find her voice.  “Dani’s going?  Where?”

            “Tour of duty,” Jonas answered before either of the other two could draw the breath to speak.  “We trade off every few months so that the soldiers have a reliable leader in the field, but neither of us gets too overworked.”

            Galahan nodded.  “She’ll be leaving later tonight.” 

            Vicky was so preoccupied with the knowledge that Danica was leaving that the sudden return of the knowledge that Jonas would be taking up the slack in her training left by Danica’s absence took her off guard.  She wondered how on earth she was going to deal with such an infuriating man as a tutor; Danica was at least friendly.  “I really don’t like the idea of – _him –_ training me,” Vicky protested belatedly.  “For all I know, he’s as likely to kill me as teach me anything.”

            Jonas frowned.  “You’re under the protection of the Royal Family,” he countered.  “Even if I wanted to, I would be essentially declaring myself a rogue and a traitor.”

            Vicky arched an eyebrow at him.  “ _Even_ if you wanted to? You can’t tell me you haven’t been tempted. You haven’t said a single nice thing to me from the first day I met you.  You’ve been nothing but _simpara_ to me for the last six months.”

            “That’s not a very nice word for a lady to say,” Jonas shot back at her.  Vicky’s eyes narrowed.

            “How about this one then: Jackass!”

            “Did someone flip your bitch-switch to _on_ this morning?” he demanded gruffly, and she rolled her eyes in irritation, groaning. 

            After a pause just long enough for her to count to ten, she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “If you’d keep your mouth shut,” she said sweetly. “We’d get along famously.”

            Whatever retort he was about to make to that one was interrupted by the door swinging open, and Danica all but dancing into the room.  “Hey, Vicky, congrats!” she shouted across the massive hall.  She jogged closer to them, greeting her brother warmly and staring askance at him when he simply huffed.  “Well who peed in your oatmeal this morning, grumpy?” the rank-second captain asked, cocking her head at a jaunty angle.  He harrumphed again and stalked out of the room.  Vicky watched him go, victoriously.  It was nice to see someone other than him get the last word in occasionally.       

            Galahan was hiding his face in one hand, his shoulders shaking.  “The three of you-” His words trailed off in uncontrollable laughter.  The three women stared at him as though he’d suddenly sprouted a second head, but it didn’t last.  Danica, who’d swung in on a good mood in the first place, was the first to crack.  Doubling over, she gave in totally to her mirth.  Vicky and Mayra exchanged a bewildered look, and soon all four of them had tears rolling down their faces from laughing so hard.

 

 

            Later on, Neena dropped by Vicky’s room, positively green with envy. 

            “You’re so lucky,” she gushed, happier than Vicky had ever seen her before.  “Training under Jonas himself, oh, you must tell me how it goes.  Please, Vicky?”  Neena looked so hopeful that Vicky didn’t even have the heart to deny her request, despite the fact that she didn’t see much use in it.  She and Jonas were just as likely to kill each other as manage to teach or learn anything useful.

            “I suppose so,” she said reluctantly.  “I’m not expecting much out of it, though.”

            Neena scoffed. “With Captain Jonas training you, you’ll be just perfect.”

            Vicky shrugged, and excused herself.  Neena’s pleasant smile dripped away to reveal a thunderous scowl, but Vicky’s back was already turned and she didn’t see it.


	8. Chapter 8

            Vicky stared at Jonas.

            He stared back.

            The silence stretched between them, becoming so thick and tense that it could have been cut with a blunt-edged knife.  They’d agreed to meet peacefully in the training room, in order for Jonas to do his own evaluation of her skills, but now that she was there, she found that starting wasn’t as easy as she’d hoped. 

            Finally fed up with the staring contest, she drew her sword.  “Are we going to do this or what?”  The words had barely left her mouth before his sword was in his hand.  She marveled at the speed with which he unsheathed it, and then considered something Danica had mentioned to her, about not making rank captain on looks alone. The two siblings were the greatest fighters from all that Shu’ma had to offer; she was awed for a moment that they were the ones training her. 

            He waited until her attention was focused directly on him – something Danica wouldn’t have done – and then launched his attack.  She parried to the best of her ability – which wasn’t inconsiderable, when one thought about how long she’d been actually training – and he grinned, unexpectedly pleased with her progress.

            “Dan’s a better teacher than I gave her credit for,” he said, and Vicky flushed with pride for her friend and herself, but said nothing. 

            She was gradually aware that he was slowly increasing the speed and force of his blows, forcing her to react faster and with more strength in order to prevent him from knocking her over.  Suddenly, she realised that it was _important_ that she train with Jonas, for more than just the continuing growth of  her skill – not all the Mir’naam warriors were women, and men had a distinct advantage over her.  At five feet, five inches tall, she was easily out-massed by the majority of the people she would be fighting, and it was imperative that she know the best way to combat their superior strength and height advantage.  She called a halt to the lesson suddenly, throwing herself down at his feet and knocking him off balance as he over-extended himself to reach an adversary that was no longer where he expected her to be.  Jonas’ foot connected with the armour on her side, and he flailed comically for a moment before crashing down on top of her.

            “Have you lost your Lady-damned mind?” he snapped, scrambling to his feet.  She grinned at him, unexpectedly pleased that she’d surprised him.

            “No,” she said easily.  “But I wanted to see if it would work.  See, I was thinking,” she continued, and explained her thought. 

            He considered it.  “That’s a good point,” he conceded grudgingly, and looked at her with a new light in his eyes.  “That’s a very good point.  I hadn’t thought of it before, or I’d have told Dan to make sure some of the others got in here and helped you out, too.” He gazed at her, speculatively.  “So, I suppose this means you’ll eventually be out in the field.”  For once, the words weren’t spoken mockingly; all traces of sarcasm were gone from his tone, and Vicky was startled to realise that it made a profound difference in the way he came across when he spoke.

            “Yes.” She turned her attention away from him and the thoughts she could see piling up behind his eyes.  “I decided that I’d have to go out and fight three days ago, when the Mir’naam got in.  If I ever-” she cut herself off and started again. “Until I get back to Earth, this is my home.  I can’t sit by and watch other people do all the work of defending it, not when there’s something I could do to help.”

            He offered her a genuine smile, and reached out to clasp her hand.  “That’s the sort of thing I like to hear,” he said almost warmly, and hauled her to her feet.  “Now, if you’re going out there, you’re damn well not getting killed before we have a chance to send you through the Eimerli and back where you came from.”

*

            She trained with him every day for the next three weeks.  There were two more attempted raids, all foiled before they could come to fruition, and Galahan spoke at length with Jonas about mounting a return raid and possibly stopping them before innocent civilians were hurt. 

            Now that they were beginning to see eye-to-eye on her training – she would be up to the standards of the two captains before she made it into the field or she wasn’t going, something that she was alternately amused by and despaired over – Jonas was much more companionable, almost friendly towards her.  He’d even begun joining her for her morning runs, approving of her methods.

            “You’re so little,” he said during one of their impromptu races.  “It’ll be good for you to work on your speed.  Just promise me no more stunts like the one you pulled in training the other day.  It’s all well and good when you’ve got a cushioned mat to fall on, but try that in the field and you’re just as likely to get gutted by a rock as your adversary.”

            Vicky barely heard anything he told her; her thoughts leapt upon the leading statement that she was _little_ , and she tried to decide if he were joking, or referring to her height.  As she ran, she looked down at her body.  It looked the same as it always had, she supposed, although now that she was thinking about it, she realised she was in much better shape than she had been upon arriving in Eversong.  At home, she could barely climb a flight of stairs without winding herself, and now she found herself taking thirty minute jogs without even breathing hard.  It was a heady feeling, and she increased her speed just for the sheer joy of running, something she’d never experienced before. 

            Beside her, Jonas let out a startled noise as she overtook him and left him behind, and then she could hear his feet thudding against the flooring as he sped up.  They raced through the hallways like children exploring a manor house for the first time, laughing at their own antics, and Vicky decided that he wasn’t as terrible as she’d first thought him to be. 

            He shirked their training session for the day, preferring instead to take her out riding.  They talked at great length about their respective childhoods, and Vicky was overcome by a wash of longing to have grown up here in Eversong.  It was true, what she’d been telling people all along; Eversong was becoming her home.  It didn’t change the fact that she missed her parents terribly, would always miss them, but she found that the loss was easier to cope with when Jonas was teasing her lightly, laughing easily at his own bad jokes instead of snarking at her with the intent to cause pain.

              “I love my dad,” Vicky told him.  “My mother and I are like night and day; if we’re alone for too long, we end up fighting.  But my dad’s amazing.  I bet he’d really like you,” she teased.  He grinned back at her, and then a shadow overtook his features.

            “I wish my father were like that,” he admitted after a long silence.  “He used to hit my mother and Dan and I.  He was the reason I learned to fight; I had to protect them from him.  And Dan followed in my footsteps after-”

            “And look where you are now,” Vicky interjected.  “Away from him and one of the most powerful people in all Eversong.”

            He stared at her for a long time after that, saying nothing.  “I was wrong about you,” he said at last.  “When I first found you wandering around Kah’makh, being chased by the skaal, I thought you were some idiot who’d wandered too far from Kahlen.” He admitted his own folly easily, without even an apologetic blush.  Vicky hit his arm, scowling.

            “Jerk,” she said without heat.             He grinned.

            “I’ve learned my lesson almost as well as you’ve learned yours,” he complimented, and it was she who found herself blushing.  “I thought you’d never amount to anything, but you’re… you’re someone I wouldn’t mind having on my field team.”

            She gaped at him, aware that she resembled a fish – _Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies,_ her mother used to say – but words utterly failed her.  A spot of darkness fell over them that had nothing to do with emotions.  Glancing up at the new arrival, Vicky realised it was one of the palace boys, panting with exertion.

            “Jonas, Galahan wants you out tonight.  Raid,” he gasped out, and then ran on, apparently delivering the message to others.  Vicky felt the blood drain out of her face, and then told herself she was being silly.

            _He’s been on hundreds of raids before_ , she told herself firmly.  _There’s going to be nothing different about this one._   It didn’t stop the sensation of a rock dropping heavily into her stomach.

            That night, she didn’t sleep at all; she stayed sitting on the absurdly large windowsill, padded for comfort, and watched the moons travel across the now-familiar night sky as she waited for him to return in one piece.

            _When did I start caring about him so much?_


	9. Chapter 9

 

            The next time Vicky entered the dining hall, she was greeted by a crowd of shining faces.  Danica bounded out of her chair and jogged lightly down the length of the room to greet her.

            “Hey, girl,” she said happily, the tips of her fingers brushing lightly against Vicky’s hair.  “Galahan’s holding a ball tomorrow night.  Celebration in honour of your heroism, and a quick and easy pick-me-up over the constant negativity flowing in from the Mir’naam.  They’re absolutely determined to tear us down.”          

            Vicky stared at her, bemused.  “A ball? Like, a dancing ball?” They made their way up to the table, where Galahan, Mayra, and Ember were all waiting with identical smiles on their faces. 

            “Can you not dance?” Ember asked slyly, and from her other side Jonas snorted and twisted in his seat to look at his sister and trainee. 

            “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he said, but it was without malice, and the dirty look Vicky shot him was more from habit than any real negative feelings towards him.

            “I’ll be sure and avoid you at the dance, then Jonas,” Vicky said haughtily.  “I don’t know if I could trust you not to step on my feet.”

            Danica sighed, unused to their bickering, while the three royals simply took it in stride.  Mayra was unable to hide her laughter, and ended up putting her head down in her folded arms so as to not laugh directly in their faces.

            “Victoria, are you able to dance, or would you like instruction?” asked Galahan, suddenly solicitous.  Vicky put him off with a shake of her head. 

            “I can dance,” she said, and then forestalled further protests by adding, “Janella taught me how last month.” The matter suitably settled, the group tucked into their meals in companionable silence.

 

            The next night, Vicky was a bundle of frayed nerves.  She was confident in her ability to not trip over the hem of her dress, or step on anyone’s feet, but it would be the first time she’d ever been on a true public display.   While in the bath, one of the musicians called on her, asking if there was any particular song or songs she wanted them to play.  Vicky immediately thought of Unchained Melody; the tune was one of her favourites, and she found herself humming it after the woman asked. 

            “That is truly magnificent,” the musician said, and Vicky turned to look at her.  Milky blue eyes stared through her, and Vicky was surprised to realise that she was blind.  “My name is Salimbra,” the woman offered with a smile.  “I am the leader of our coromara, our music-players.  If you would do me the honour of humming again?”

            Vicky wasn’t at all musically inclined, but for her fifteenth birthday, she’d received an electronic keyboard with keys that lit up to teach you the songs.  Unchained Melody had been one of them, and it was the first, last, and only song she’d ever learned to play without staring at the lights. “If you have a piano, I can play it for you,” Vicky offered.  Salimbra’s smile faltered for a moment. 

            “Piano?” she asked, clearly puzzled by the word.  Janella, who was more familiar with Earth terms, mentioned that she’d seen one in a book before, and told Salimbra that they did indeed have something similar.  Vicky rose from the bath and dressed, allowing Janella and Salimbra to lead her to the coromarani, the music rooms.  In the dead center of the acoustically enhanced room was the strangest piano-type instrument Vicky had ever seen, and she hoped that the keys and notes were similar at the very least.  Salimbra lead her to it, and allowed her to sit down and figure out the way it worked.

            Pleased that everything was similar enough for her purposes, Vicky closed her eyes, placed her fingers, and began playing.  There were quiet gasps all around her, but immersed in the music as she was, she didn’t hear them.  So many memories were tied up in this song; happier days with her father and mother, picnics and campfires, funny stories told around the dinner table and the huge family gatherings at the holidays.

            The song had always seemed triumphant to her, starting soft and meek, almost shy, and then growing in a crescendo of sound until it enveloped her and became the embodiment of perfection. 

            The melody needed no lyrics; indeed, she was always glad that it was purely instrumental.  There was no human element to these notes; to attempt it was to sully the meaning.  She played on, restarting when she came to the end in a gentle loop.  Gradually, she remembered that she wasn’t alone, and her eyes opened; she hadn’t even been aware of closing them, so deeply had the melody taken her into her own memories.

            “That,” Salimbra said, and then trailed off, the emotion in her voice evident.  “That is the nature of your music on Earth?”

            Vicky nodded, and then remembered Salimbra couldn’t see her.  “Some of it,” she said.  “It’s my favourite song.”

            The musician gave a gentle sigh.  “It shall be yours tonight,” she said, and then motioned for Vicky to stand.  “Have I got it right?” The blind woman placed her hands perfectly against the keys of the unfamiliar instrument, and played the melody back to her perfectly.

            This time it was Vicky who felt the emotion overwhelming her.  “Yes,” she said.  “That’s right.”

            Janella wiped tears from her eyes.  “Come on now, Vicky,” she said, tugging on Vicky’s arm.  “We’ve got to get you ready tonight.  Salimbra knows music better than anyone else.  She’s the asl’a of our coromar here in Shu’marra; she’ll make sure the song is properly arranged for tonight.  It was beautiful, though.  What is the name of it?”

            Vicky swallowed around the lump in her throat before she could answer.  “It’s called the Unchained Melody.” Janella sighed happily.

            “This ball is going to be one of the best ever,” she asserted.  Vicky smiled nervously, wishing she shared the serving girl’s conviction. 

            “What am I going to wear?” she asked, suddenly aware that she owned nothing suitable for the sort of gala that this was promising to be.  Janella’s only answer was a smug smile.

            “You’ll see.”

*

            Vicky stared.  The dress that was waiting for her in her rooms was the single most beautiful piece of clothing she’d ever seen in her life. A strapless, wine-red bodice was wrapped horizontally around the mannequin, with a ribbon tucked under the bust, slightly lighter in colour than the bodice itself.  The skirt was a fountain of gauzy black fabric spilling down over the solid underskirt of the same shade as the bodice, thinning out near the bottom to reveal the fabric beneath.  A decorative flower was cinched at the waist, adding a touch of flair to the dress. 

            “You must be joking,” she breathed.  “This is never going to fit me.” It was the only worm in the otherwise perfect apple of Eden; she’d often seen girls at the school dances wearing dresses so tiny, filling them out perfectly without any embarrassing lumps or bulges.  She was well-aware that her body was less than perfect, and it had always been a sore point with her, for no matter how hard she’d worked, the excess fat refused to melt away.

            Alindra looked askance at her, and then demanded she strip.  “That’s what you think,” the girl said, and hauled the dress delicately off the mannequin while Vicky tore her own clothes off.   Unafraid to stand before her two friends in her underwear, she waited for Alindra to finish freeing the dress.  She wanted so badly – but she knew that she’d probably end up ripping it once the cloud of fabric settled.  Janella held it out for her to step into, and she did so reluctantly, eyes closed tightly as the two girls pulled it up over her body.  They tugged here and there, fastening it up the back.  Vicky gave an experimental wiggle, hearing the soft rustle as the two layers of skirt rubbed against one another, but the dress didn’t seem near to bursting; in fact, she’d never worn anything that fit so perfectly.

            Opening her eyes slowly, she saw herself in the full-length mirror Alindra had brought.  The dress fit as though it had been tailored for her exactly, and the sight of herself after so many months of not caring took her own breath away.  Almost unable to believe the physical changes that had come over her, she settled her hands on her stomach, noting how flat it was, and peering closely at her collar bone, seeing the way the skin dipped and curved around it gracefully.  Alindra reached up behind her and tugged her hair free of the bun she kept it in.  It fell in long graceful waves around her face, reaching past the middle of her back; when had it gotten so _long?_

            “You’re so beautiful,” Alindra breathed quietly, arranging the mass of hair so it draped across Vicky’s shoulders.  “They’re not going to know what hit them when you step out there tonight.”

            “Especially Captain Jonas,” Janella gasped out, and then burst into giggles.  Alindra was right behind her, but Vicky shot them both a bewildered look.

            “What does Jonas have anything to do with it?” she asked, but the girls refused to answer, simply laughing harder.

            When the fit had passed, the two girls began scurrying around, bringing strange objects nearer so that they could finish helping Vicky dress, which apparently included doing her hair and putting on what passed as make-up. 

            She didn’t recognise herself when they were done.  Artful shadows had been added around her eyes, making them appear larger than they were, and the intense green stood out when framed by her hair.  The girls used a heated metal rod as a curling iron, twisting strands of her hair around it until they held the curled shape.  A chunky cuff bracelet made of a silvery material and studded delicately with coloured stones went around her wrist, and Alindra hooked a delicate necklace around her throat.

            “They’re not going to recognise you,” Alindra said admiringly.  “We’re going to have to go with you and announce to everyone: This is Vicky!” She and Janella shared another giggling fit, while Vicky slid her feet into a comfortable pair of soft boots, made from a material the same shade as the dress.  She stomped experimentally, liking the way they felt around her feet, and grinned.

            “I look pretty damn good,” she said to herself, and Janella beamed at her, eyes sparkling. 

            “That is an understatement.” Danica strode into the room, her soldier’s gait slightly encumbered by the dress swirling around her ankles.  Vicky whistled appreciatively; clothes had certainly made a significant difference in both cases.

            “You look fantastic, Dani,” Vicky said, reaching out and giving her friend a hug.  Danica returned it happily, if a bit stiffly. 

            “So do you.  Jonas won’t recognise you.”

            Vicky stomped her foot again, more from irritation than anything else.  “What is it with everyone talking about Jonas?”  Danica gave her a speculative look, trying to decide if she was serious.      

            “Can you honestly tell me that you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you lately?” she wanted to know, and took Vicky’s arm to guide her down to the ballroom.

            Vicky frowned. “Like he wants to insult me again?”

            The captain simply sighed.  “Just promise me you’ll keep an eye on his face when he gets a good look at you,” she said finally.  Vicky acquiesced, puzzled.

            The closer they came to the ballroom, the louder the music became.  It wasn’t anything serious yet, as most of the guests were still gathering; just a few simple, light tunes to keep everyone from being bored until the party really got started.  Danica deposited Vicky by a large, elegant doorway.  “As the guest of honour, you enter through here,” she said.  “I’ll meet you on the floor later.” The captain vanished, leaving Vicky staring at her hands and wondering if she could really go through with it.  Finally, she sighed, stiffened her back, and pushed the door open. 

            The sight that spread out before her took her breath away.  Hundreds of Mir’lian were gathered, some dancing already, some milling in small groups and talking.  More poured in from the sides even as she stood watching.  The door she’d come through was situated at the top of a long curving staircase that lead straight down into the middle of the dance floor.  Her nerve almost broke, until the music changed subtly.

            The Unchained Melody drifted up to her ears, and she felt a smile lifting the corners of her lips as she swayed to it.  People below her were beginning to realise she was standing there, and she took another deep breath, and began making her way down the staircase.  With so many hundreds of eyes on her, and more arriving even as she descended, she shouldn’t have been able to pick any particular one out of a crowd.

            But the weight, the familiarity; she would have noticed this stare out of a crowd of thousands.  Her eyes flicked from face to face as she descended, and finally came to rest on the man standing at the foot of the stairs, staring up at her. 

            _Jonas._

            If not for his molten-gold eyes, she might not have recognised him.  His hair was as tidy as she’d ever seen it, and his clothes were as delicate and fine as her own.  She reached the bottom of the steps, and he held his arm out to her, a grin pulling at his lips.  One side went higher than the other, giving his smile a lopsided look.  She grinned back at him helplessly, and suddenly they were the only two people in the room.

            “You’re beautiful, Victoria Crawford,” he murmured to her, and swept her out onto the dance floor.  The crowds parted for them, forming a circle that hovered near the edges of the room.  He placed his hand on her waist and they floated across the floor as though it were air.  She danced as though she’d been training for it all her life, the movements coming as easily to her as breathing. 

            “I almost didn’t recognise you standing there,” she said quietly.  “You clean up rather well.” Her smile was radiant, and she wondered again when he’d become so important to her.  It was only then that she realised her nervousness had evaporated; the only thing she dreaded had not come true.

            He’d been there waiting for her.

            And now she had a new memory to add to the Unchained Melody; whirling across the dance floor with him was magical – her feet seemed to hardly touch the ground before he was twirling her around, maneuvering with the gentle strength and grace born of years spent in battles and fights for his life, when gracelessness could cost him dearly.  And she – never the most delicate of girls – felt as light as a feather blowing in the wind, dancing for the sheer joy of it with no hesitation and no limitation.

            Gradually the song wound to a close, and there was a thunderous roar of thousands of people clapping all at once.  Vicky looked around at the crowd as it began to shift back onto the floor, the musicians taking up a tune more suited to Eversong.  Nearly the entire population of Shu’marra had turned out for the occasion.  Danica swept by on the arm of an incredibly handsome man, and then realised she’d overshot her target.  Spinning on her heel, she tugged the man back towards her brother and best friend.

            “Vicky! This is my husband, Jachai Skyheart.  He’s been away on business, doing trade in Duondye, to the south.  Jachai, this is my best friend, Victoria Crawford.”

            He smiled warmly at her, bowing from the waist.  “Nica has told me very much about you, Victoria,” he said.  “I look forward to seeing more of you, some other time.” Someone bumped into him, and apologised profusely.  “I fear it is too crowded here to make any sort of conversation for very long.”  

            Vicky smiled, grinned at Danica, and then shooed them away, urging them to return to whatever errand they’d been on when Vicky had been spotted.  Once they’d melted back into the crowds, Vicky leaned against Jonas so that he could hear her over the dull roar of conversation that flowed around them.  “I had no idea she was married,” she muttered, and he had the temerity to laugh at her.  She dug her elbow into his stomach, and he grunted softly but was otherwise unfazed.

            “Jerk.  It’s not polite to laugh at people.”

            “I can laugh at you if I want to,” he said quietly, tucking his arm around her waist and leading her back to the center of the dance floor, where they neatly cut into the dancers and joined them.

            Vicky managed to take her eyes off of Jonas only once that night, and glanced up through the glass-paneled ceiling; the two moons were rising gracefully into the sky, dancing to their own cosmic songs.  

*

            The dance was winding down, the guests all wined and dined and having had their fill of socializing for the moment.  Vicky was sitting on the side of the room, surveying it as it emptied.  She’d been briefly introduced to Galahan’s son, but was distracted by Jonas’ absence and was now horrified to realise she couldn’t even remember what his name had been.  Hopefully someone would mention it to her before she had to interact with him again.  _That’s a horrible thing to hope for,_ she thought, berating herself for her own absent-mindedness.  She hadn’t had a chance to get bored with her position before Jonas was returning, two small cups in his hands. 

            “It’s _fion,_ a special type of wine,” he explained.  “We drink together now, like this.”  He handed her one of the cups, and held his own out at an angle. 

            “Like this?” she asked, mimicking his posture. 

            “Yes.  You drink from the cup I hold, and I drink-“

            “Ah, I see it now,” Vicky interrupted him, smiling.  “This is a wedding custom where I come from.” She held the cup a little straighter, and in unison, almost as if they’d practiced it countless times, they drank.  “Whoo,” she gasped, choking slightly.  “That stuff’s potent.”  It wasn’t the first drink she’d had that night, but unlike the gentle _lauve_ , made from fermented fruits, it had a sharp bite, and burned all the way down into her stomach where it sat hotly.  The room spun pleasantly, and she scowled at her partner.  “You got me drunk,” she accused.

            Jonas assumed an angelically innocent face that didn’t fool her for a moment.  “Drunk?” He looked around, gently bewildered, and looked for an ally.  Seeing none, he turned back to her, but couldn’t quite hide the glimmer of amusement that lit his eyes.  “If I’d been trying to get you drunk, dear lady, you wouldn’t be able to stand up at the moment.  Besides,” he added. “If you were drunk, I would feel guilty for this.”

            His eyes closed halfway and he took her by her shoulders, drawing her closer to him.  Vicky had seen enough movies in her lifetime to recognise a kiss when she was about to receive one, and closed her own eyes.

            His lips brushed hers in the barest hint of sensation, their mingling breath sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.  She could feel his mouth curving against her own, and she matched it, leaning forward into the kiss and deepening it.  His arms went around her back, pulling her flush against him.

            She had no idea how long they’d spent there, simply enjoying the sensation of closeness with one another.  Finally, he reached her hand with his own, and led her from the hall.  “Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly.  He turned a boyish grin on her, shrugging maddeningly.  “Jonas!”

            “That’s my name,” he teased, and pulled her through a doorway into what could only be his bedroom.  She stared silently around her, wonder filling her eyes, as he advanced slowly, golden eyes catching the firelight and glowing.  His arms went around her again; this time his fingers toyed with the fastenings on her dress until they came loose.  She sighed, happier than she’d ever thought possible, and relaxed against him as he drew the garment down her body.

            “Jonas…”


	10. Chapter 10

 

            It had been three weeks since the ball held in Vicky’s honour, for the good she had done for Shu’marra, and every day since had brought her closer to Jonas.  It was as though they were somehow attempting to atone for the several months they’d spent hating the merest sight of one another, for they were now nearly inseparable.  Her training was still going strong, but now Jonas and Danica felt that her talents were enough that she wouldn’t fail immediately in the field.  Her first mission was with Danica; Galahan refused to allow Jonas to accompany them, for reasons of his own.

            Later, Danica confessed that it had been her idea in the beginning; she knew her brother, and could see that his affection for Vicky would either prevent him from doing his job, or prevent her from doing hers, especially if he considered the situation beyond her capabilities.

            “Which with you being so green, will be pretty much anything we do, even if it’s just reconnaissance,” Danica said wryly.  “You’ll never get any experience out of this little trip if he’s with you, and he trusts me enough to know that I won’t let you into something that could kill you.”

            Vicky grinned, pleased by his concern.  “Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone so quickly?” she asked her friend.  “I’ve never been in love before; not seriously.  I never really got close enough to anyone on Earth to know if they were someone I could love, and Andrew was my only real guy friend, and he’s a total playboy; I’d have been stupid to fall for him.  I don’t think he’s capable of love.”

            Danica gave this some thought.  “Do you really think people are incapable of loving each other?”  Tana tossed her head at that statement, and Arby, Danica’s horse, snorted, as though the horses themselves were involved in the conversation and not just their riders.

            “I think it takes a certain kind of person, a very sad person, to be incapable of love,” Vicky admitted.  “Some people don’t love, but I do think there are people who can’t.”  She let the silence stretch for a long moment, and then added, “I used to think I was one of them.”

            Danica laughed lightly.  “You were just waiting for the right person,” she teased.  “Although I have to admit, I never really expected it to be my brother.”

            Vicky turned a sour look on her.  “What’s wrong with your brother?” she asked.  “I don’t see anything wrong with him.”

            “Any more.” Danica giggled, recalling the few fights she’d witnessed between them.  “And there’s nothing _wrong_ with him, I don’t think.  You’d be in more of a position to tell me about any problems he’s got than I would know of.”  She grinned, and Vicky sighed heavily, thoroughly sick of the teasing she received at the hands of her friend.

            “Aren’t you ever going to get tired of that?” she demanded.

            Danica shook her head, but the grin abruptly melted off her face.  “Be serious now,” she said, and motioned to the ten warriors who rode behind them.  “We’re here.”

            They gathered in a small circle, just out of sight of the Mir’naam camp.  It was different than the one Vicky had briefly stayed in, so many months ago, and she wondered vaguely what had happened to Max. 

            “This is a simple recon mission,” Danica muttered, showing off her knowledge of the new word Vicky had taught her as they were leaving Shu’marra.  “We’re not here to start fights, and if you can get in an out without being seen, that’s even better.  Just get me a basic number so we know how many we’ll be dealing with.  Vicky- that goes double for you.  Stay out of trouble.  Jonas would have my head if I let anything happen to you.”

            Vicky flashed her a thumbs up.  “No problem, Dani,” she said easily, and slid out of Tana’s saddle.  Her boots made no sound as she touched down, despite the grass being dry and sprinkled liberally with leaves.  Vicky counted quickly in her mind, and guessed that it was coming into _Halov,_ the Eversong version of October.  The _Kanna_ was ending, the changing of the leaves, and soon the nights would be unbearably cold as the snow began falling for the long _Madnaran._    

            Walking silently over dry leaves and dead grass had not been one of her more intriguing lessons, but since the seasons were changing and she was adamant in her decision to accompany the Mir’lian on their raids against their darker cousins, she learned it because Danica and Jonas had asked it of her.

            Now, she realised what a useful skill it was turning out to be, as she and the ten other members of Danica’s party crept forward, so silent as to be ghostly.  It was dark enough that the Mir’naam had retreated mostly to their tents.  They came only close enough to make a definite count of the tents, as each could only hold three or four of the Mir’naam.  The group split into two, five of them rushing forward among the Mir’naam in order to listen and ferret out any information their enemies let slip.  Vicky stayed with the rest, slightly spread out so that a large group huddling above the campground would not attract undue attention from their targets.  Because Dhiren – their king – was a purported military genius, the camps that were set up on the move, such as this one, were always ordered the same way.  The tents were in neat rows and columns, all the better for the Mir’naam to find their way through them without having to dodge canvas – or what passed for canvas in Eversong – in the event that they should be attacked.  Unfortunately for the Mir’naam, it also made it impossibly easy for Mir’lian scouts to count the numbers.  Vicky had been assigned the last four rows on the right.  She quickly counted up the line, and then multiplied it by four.  There were near thirty tents in her four rows alone; a frightening thought when one considered the full amount.  This was no raiding party camping out for the night; this was a battalion on the road for war.

            Vicky and her group made their way back down to Danica after the counts had been tallied.  There were nearly a hundred tents on this plain, and with three to four bodies per tent, that meant there were between three and four hundred Mir’naam gathered here.  At the very least.  She shuddered, and hoped that they would not be forced to fight.  It would not end well for the Mir’lian if they were, and she knew it. 

            Tana greeted her cheerfully, for all that she’d only been gone a half hour at most, and she slipped an apple out of the saddlebag and scratched the horse behind her ears.  After finishing the apple, Tana nudged Vicky with her nose, sniffing out any more potential treats she might have been hiding on her person.

            “That’s it, Tana, there’s nothing else,” she said in soft regret, and Danica laughed quietly from behind her.  She turned to face her friend, grinning and shrugging at the same time.  

           

            It was dawn by the time they reached the outskirts of Shu’ma, and their progress was halted by the sight of a king’s messenger bearing down on them at a speed that would have wounded a lesser horse.  The messenger’s horses were bred tougher, however, especially when faced with the need for quickly delivered orders and updates while on the field of war.

            “Captain Skyheart! Danica!” The messenger skidded to a halt mere feet from Tana and Arby, who greeted the new horse with soft whickers.  “Urgent! While you were away, the Mir’naam – they attacked Shu’marra.  Princess Ember – she was taken prisoner by the Mir’naam!  Galahan – he requests the help of your men – and Lady Victoria.  Return quickly!”  His message delivered, the man wheeled his horse around, and sped off in another direction, clearly off to spread the word to the other outlying guard parties.  Vicky and Danica exchanged a single horrified look, and then urged their horses onward.

*

            Danica was sent out with a separate search party than her brother, and Jonas refused to let Vicky out of his sight on such an important mission.  The two of them, along with fifteen of Jonas’ best men and women, saddled their horses and almost flew away from Shu’ma.  They were all aware that the Mir’naam would know who they’d taken, and what sort of retribution they would face when they were caught.  This wasn’t a raid for slaves, it was a deliberate attack on Shu’marra.  Ember’s life forfeited for Zeeki’s. 

            Vicky was terrified, but above and below the terror was hatred.  Max had been kind to her; she still thought of him as a friend.  But his people had taken someone dear to her; Ember didn’t say much, but she put thought into the things she said.  She was friendly with Vicky, too, despite their utterly different backgrounds.  Without any common ground, the two girls had managed to become friends, and Vicky had had so few of those in her life – so few true friends, for she’d had a crowd of about a dozen people in high school, none of whom she’d ever trusted – that she cherished the ones she’d made.  For the Mir’naam to have stolen that friendship away was an irrefutable call for war.  So she shoved the terror out of her mind, and concentrated.  The Mir’naam would die today for this, and they would die on the end of her sword.

           

            It was no more than a twelve hours ride when Jonas and Vicky caught up to a group of twenty Mir’naam, slinking quickly and quietly through the Southern Kah’makh, with a prisoner bound and gagged between armed guards.  Vicky knew enough of the geography of Eversong by now to place their position south of Kahlen and east of Azerus, for they’d passed between Lake Fadrin and Kahlen, following the Asha River.  The Mir’lian were outnumbered by only three men, but they were fighting with desperation on their side, and even that small advantage was soon lost.

            What the Mir’lian had not been counting on was the Mir’naam use of trained skaal; five of the demonic dog-like creatures were loosed into the would-be rescuer’s midst, scattering them.  Vicky lost sight of Jonas almost immediately, and nearly lost her composure.  Danica’s advice from some training session past came back to her suddenly, floating in front of her eyes as though someone had stitched it onto a banner and hung it in front of her.  _“Be afraid later.  Be angry later. Be anything you want – later.  In battle, be calm.”_

She drew that calm around her like a cloak, taking a deep breath and sliding down Tana’s withers.  The Mir’naam were on foot, and being mounted would have given her an advantage there, but she was most comfortable on her own two feet.  Drawing her sword, she let out a whooping battle cry, and threw herself into the fray. 

            First blood was drawn on her sword through the neck of the nearest Mir’naam, and she didn’t stop to think about the fact that she’d just killed someone.  She let gravity draw her sword free as the dark-skinned elf fell to the ground, his throat a fountain of blood.  Turning with the fluid grace she’d admired so many times in Jonas, her sword cut a sweeping arc straight through the unprotected throat of another, and the blood splashed across her face, hot and sticky as it merged with the sweat already there.  She spared half a moment to wipe it away from her eyes, lest it drip and blind her, and then found her third opponent more prepared for her.  Their swords clashed together with a deafening roar, melding into the screams of pain from the wounded and the howls of furious skaal.  Dropping one hand to the ground, Vicky put herself inside his guard, and used her momentum to carry her foot upwards and into his chin, snapping his head back with a sickening crunch that told her bones had broken.  Rather than wait and see which ones, she plunged her sword straight through the armour protecting his chest, straight through his heart. 

            Around her, she could see allies and foes alike falling, and then Ember was before her, terrified eyes wide.  “Ember! You’re safe, thank the Goddess.”

            Scared as she was, Ember recognised her instantly.  “Vicky! Oh, thank Meirikki you’re here.”  They shared a grim smile, and Vicky cut the bonds tying the princess’s hands together.  “Take Tana, get out of here.  We’ll take care of the rest.”  When it looked like the girl was going to protest, Vicky gestured violently.  “Go!” Ember ran, ducking around the Mir’naam who tried to stop her.  Vicky whirled on him, determined to let her friend get to safety no matter what the cost.  Their blades met, and Vicky took her first wound as he brought a second sword from behind him and caught her across the thigh.

            It burned, but had cut with the muscle instead of against it, and she kept her feet.  Lashing out with her free hand, she caught a grip on his wrist and snapped it, listening with satisfaction as he howled in pain and dropped the second blade.  A second Mir’naam came from her left, slicing into the cords binding her armour to her chest and back.  When it swung uselessly to one side, she wasted two seconds discarding it and then put her sword through the first one’s neck with such force that his head fell away entirely and rolled before his body hit the ground. 

            The second looked surprised to realise she was female, and it bought her the time she needed to wrench her sword under his armour and straight through his body.  Skewered on her sword like a piece of meat, the Mir’naam stared dumbly down at the instrument of his demise before Vicky planted her foot in his middle and pushed him away.  The sword came free with a wet _squish_ that nauseated her and suddenly the sight and smell of so much blood was overwhelming, and she leaned forward, emptying the contents of her stomach violently.  Hands came down on her shoulders, and she reacted violently, spinning around and driving an elbow into her newest foes midsection.  He let out a pained grunt, and then tightened his grip. “Vicky, it’s me.”

            The haze lifted from her eyes, and she realised Jonas was standing in front of her, whole and relatively unharmed.  She threw her arms around him, relieved, and then drew back to look him in the eyes.  “I saw Ember,” she said. “I sent her to Tana-”

            Her words broke off abruptly as a strange expression came over his face.  He glanced down at himself, puzzled, and Vicky followed his line of sight.

            Her heart stopped dead in her chest as she realised that one of the Mir’naam had driven a sword straight through his heart from behind.  “no…”

            He crumpled to the ground, followed by his murderer as Vicky reclaimed her grip on her sword.  All around her, the battle raged on, but she could only see him as his life’s blood leaked onto the ground, soaking her boots.  Her sword clattered to the ground beside her, and she dropped to her knees, gathering him close to her chest.  Blood flecked his lips and his breathing was a harsh, gurgling sound.  Distantly, she knew that the sword must have struck a lung; either way, he was not going to live.

            Golden eyes flickered open, dim with pain.  “Vicky,” he murmured, and coughed blood.             

            She shook her head as his features blurred, tears filling her eyes.  “You can’t die, Jonas.  You can’t.”

            He grinned the lopsided grin at her again.  “Vicky,” he tried again.  “Meeting you… was the best thing that ever happened to me.  A blessing from the Lady Herself.  Loving you… has been … the greatest… joy of my life.  My… only regret… was that we did not… have more time.” The grin faltered.  “I was a fool… for hating you.  We could have … had many… happy years.  Vicky.” His eyes closed for a long moment, and he struggled to open them against his failing body.  “My beautiful Victoria.  I would not… have missed that dance with you… you were my… unchained melody.”  He coughed again, and more blood than she thought possible poured from his mouth.  “Love me,” he whispered.  “And live.”

            His eyes closed once more, and did not open again.  Vicky shook him.  “You jackass,” she murmured.  “Don’t leave me like this.  You can’t! I … I can’t… live? Live for what? Without you…”

            A fierce snarl was the only warning she had before the skaal was upon her.  Fierce claws raked down her back from shoulder to hip, leaving fiery trails behind.  Vicky grabbed for her sword, endless weeks of training temporarily outweighing her loss, and she struck it across the chest even as it closed its razor-edged teeth onto her, where her neck met her shoulder.  She felt each individual tooth sinking into her skin, the powerful jaws ripping through muscle and crushing bones.  Her last conscious act was to plunge her sword through the beast’s chest, running it straight through.  It fell to the side, dead, and she left the blade sheathed in it’s body, tucking her good arm around Jonas’ body.  She buried her face in the crook of his neck, and sobbed until blackness overtook her, dragging her down into the deepest oblivion she’d ever known.

*

            Ember circled the horse back around as the sounds of fighting died away.  Tana had been reluctant to leave without her mistress, and was much too happy to be returning.  The sight that greeted her ripped a sob from her chest.  Twenty Mir’naam bodies lay scattered amongst the skaal and seventeen Mir’lian who’d come for her.  All dead.  Grief swept through her in a numbing wave as she saw the most horrifying thing of all.  Jonas Brightblade in a pool of his own blood, her dear friend Vicky nestled against him.  They were both so pale, so much blood had been lost, but if not for that, she could almost imagine that they’d simply fallen asleep there.  One hand pressed against her mouth to keep the bile in, and she whirled on Tana again, and took off at a gallop to reach Shu’marra before sundown.

            Her parents had to know she was safe; they had to know about the warriors, and Jonas. They had to know about Vicky.

            All of them.  Dead.

 


	11. Chapter 11

            “It’s an absolute miracle.  Mauled by the skaal, and all the rest dead.”

            The voice made no sense to her.  It was completely unfamiliar, and she wished it would shut up and let her sleep in peace.

            “Such a dreadful shame,” said a second voice, a male.  “Wasn’t the one she was found with the Mir’lian High Captain? Jonas Brightblade, I think his name was.  Real shame to lose him; he was the Mir’lian’s best chance against the Mir’naam, and now look at him.  Stabbed in the back.  What a terror.”

            Jonas was… dead?  When did that happen?

            “Wh’r’m’I?”

            “Oh! She’s waking up.  Owlin, quick, get some _alamyr._ ” 

            She struggled to open her eyes against what felt like three ton weights.  “Where…?” she tried again.  “Where am I?”  The first thing she saw when she got her eyes open was the kind, smiling face of an angel.  “Oh,” she said calmly, as she realised what had happened.  Slowly, memories started filtering in.  The battle for Ember; Jonas, the skaal… dying.  She was dead.  That explained a lot.

            Another angel appeared, holding a small bottle of something.  “Drink this, girl,” he said.  “It’ll make you feel better.”

            Vicky tried to sit up to drink, but every single muscle in her body protested the motion.  She collapsed back against the bed with a pained groan, and then swore quietly to herself.  “Heaven isn’t supposed to hurt this much,” she muttered to the two angels.  Maybe they’d explain what was going on in a minute. 

            “Heaven?” It was the female angel.  That made no sense; angels were supposed to be sexless, weren’t they?

            The male angel shrugged.  “Could be some human thing, I suppose.  He slid a long-fingered hand beneath her head, tilting it just far enough that when the bottle met her lips, she didn’t choke on the liquid he poured into her mouth.  “Drink this, sweetie,” he said softly.  “It’ll make you sleep a little more, but you’ll feel better when you wake up. Trust me.”

            “Nothing’s ever better when you wake up,” Vicky argued, but then felt sleep tugging her downwards inexorably, and gave into its siren’s call.     
 

            Opening her eyes was a chore, but once she’d managed it, looking around was somewhat easier as her bed was raised slightly.  Vaguely, she recalled seeing angels, and wondered if she was dead.  This brought back memories of her first entry into Eversong; she’d thought she was dead then, too, especially when faced with the skaal and –

            _Jonas._

Grief struck her like a blow, rising up like a tidal wave inside, until there was nothing left for her but to explode.  Sobs burst from her in wild torrents, intensifying the dull pains in her body.  When she’d cried as much as she could, she felt empty, and hollowed out.  She was sure she wasn’t dead, but there wasn’t any way Jonas could have survived the wound he’d taken.  And what was life without the one person she’d ever fallen truly in love with?

            A door across the room creaked open, and a woman poked her head inside.  “Are you alright now?” she asked, sounding genuinely worried.  Vicky wiped her face, and nodded. 

            “I suppose I am,” she said quietly, and the woman entered fully into the room.  Vicky was astonished to see that her dreams hadn’t been entirely untrue; the woman had a full, luxurious set of white-feathered wings.  “Um,” she tried, but couldn’t find the words.  The woman frowned in confusion, and looked behind her for the source of Vicky’s consternation. 

            “Are you sure you’re alright? Is there anything I can get you? Is your back still in any pain?”  She was so solicitous of Vicky’s health, that the wounded girl found it difficult to explain just what was wrong. 

            _I don’t know where I am. Jonas is… gone. You’ve got_ wings.  In her delirium, she recalled thinking that she was dead, because there were angels around her.  Now she knew she was still alive – it wouldn’t hurt this much if she were dead, and Jonas would be there, not some bird-woman.  “Why do you have wings?” she asked finally, surprising them both with her question.  Instead of being offended, the girl laughed.

            “Why do you not?” she asked.  “It’s just the way I was born.  All of us here in Anki’janaya are winged.  We’re the Aliya.”

            Vicky mulled this over in disinterested silence. “I see,” she said finally.  “And you are?”  It belatedly occurred to her that that was an incredibly rude way of going about it, but even more shockingly, she found that she didn’t really care if she offended this woman.  There was nothing they could do to her in retribution that was worse than the loss she’d already suffered. 

            “Aeryn,” the woman offered, her expression serene as she bustled about the small room, rearranging an array of bottles according to some inner charts.  “What about you?”

            There was something indefinable in the way she spoke English, almost as though she’d learned it without ever having heard it spoken by a native before, and it was accented in its lack of proper inflections.  After a few minutes had passed in silence, Vicky offered her an empty smile.

            “Victoria Brightblade,” she said tonelessly.  Aeryn nodded solemnly. 

            “Captain Jonas’ loss was a great blow, even to the Aliyan.  It must be harder for you.  You were lovers, weren’t you?” 

            Vicky flinched at the reminder.  “Yes.”  She considered leaving it at that – the memory of Jonas dying right there in her arms was too fresh – but twenty-odd years under Claire’s Good Manners regime determined that she couldn’t be actively rude to someone who’d been nothing but kind to her for no reason.  “We didn’t have… very much time together, but I – I loved him. Love him.”  

            Aeryn came and sat down on the bed.  Vicky watched with mild interest as she flicked her wing out of the way of being crushed.  “They do say it’s better to have loved, and lost, than to have never loved at all,” the woman said sympathetically.  “Be grateful for the time you had, that it wasn’t wasted.  His memory will always be a happy one for you.”

            Something in her tone broke through Vicky’s apathy for a moment, and she awarded the woman with a speculative look.  “Did you lose the one you loved?” she asked quietly, and Aeryn nodded.

            “The Mir’naam are not only a scourge to their Mir’lian cousins,” she offered quietly.  “It was my husband and son who were lost to the ravages of those _karayim_ , when they dared to breach the sanctity of our _anki_ , our forests.  Owlin saved my life when I would have bound my wings and thrown myself from the top of Drenukh’s peak.”  Vicky afforded her a horrified look.  She had been utterly devastated to lose Jonas so horribly, so soon, but suicide hadn’t even crossed her mind. 

            _I wonder if it’s really worth it to give up your own life like that, even if you have lost someone you loved._

“It was Owlin who gave me the idea to start this clinic.  When we heard that Princess Ember had been taken, we feared the worst.  We don’t deal much with the Mir’lian people here, but they make better neighbors than those from Azerus.  It was pure chance that our scouting party happened to be in the vicinity when the battle was over.  Ember was not among the dead, and we feared the worst for you as well, but it looks as if you’ll survive.”

            “Probably,” Vicky said quietly, still trying to decide if death would be a preferable alternative.  Worn out both emotionally and physically, she rolled herself over and slipped back into sleep. 

           

            Waking up was easier the third time, and the lingering soreness in her back and thigh was down to tolerable levels.  Owlin decided that it was alright for her to get up and start moving around again, and she spent much of her days ambling slowly around the clinic, trying to figure out where she would go from there.  The skaal’s bite on her shoulder and the slash down her back had healed to scars.  She tried to have an opinion on it; she’d never been vain in the first place, and a tiny portion of her mind was proud of them – she’d won them defending her new home against its enemies – but she was unable to gather up enough energy to really care about them.  They were just one more thing she saw when she looked in the mirror.

            She’d been in Anki’janaya for nearly two weeks by the time she finally ran into someone other than Owlin and Aeryn.  She’d grown so accustomed to their presence that the appearance of a stranger was startling.  His black hair reached his knees, something uncommon enough that it roused her interest in him, but it was the unusual violet colour of his eyes that held her attention.

            They stood staring at one another silently in the main hallway of Aeryn’s clinic, before he abruptly bowed to her.  “My name is Daemyn,” he said at last.  He spoke quietly, so that she had to strain to hear him correctly, and it was another startling change from Aeryn, who spoke briskly in her almost accentless way, and Owlin, who was nothing short of boisterous when he slowed down enough to talk to her.  He was a bundle of energy, and wore Vicky out simply being in the same room with him.

            “Vicky,” she offered in return, and he bowed again. 

            “You seem to be doing well.”

            She shrugged.  “I suppose so,” she said calmly, and then turned her attention to the window she’d been standing beside.  He moved silently to join her, looking out at the city hung between trees.  Anki’janaya was like nothing Vicky had ever seen before; no part of the massive, sprawling city touched the ground.  It was composed entirely of wooden buildings built around the trunks of the most massive trees she’d ever laid eyes on – bigger even than those of the Kah’makh that surrounded Shu’ma.  Rope bridges spanned the spaces between some of them, but the Aliya rarely walked anywhere when outside their buildings; they flew.  That they could do so at all was a shock to Vicky.  The Aliyans were basically human shaped, in the same way the Mir’lian and Mir’naam were, with slight visual differences – the length of their hands was one; the palms were abnormally large, and the six slender fingers on each of them tapered to a gentle point.  The wings were the biggest difference that Vicky noticed, but she was also fully aware that she wasn’t noticing very much yet.  Nothing seemed to matter.  It didn’t matter if she ate, or when or where she slept; it didn’t matter if she ever left Aeryn’s clinic, and it didn’t matter if she ever saw Shu’marra again.  She missed Janella, Alindra, and Danica, but the knowledge that Jonas would haunt her every step in the Mir’lian palace kept her from considering a return. 

            After that initial, semi-awkward meeting, Daemyn dropped by daily to visit with Vicky.  At first she found his silent company annoying, but after two weeks of it she was beginning to look forward to seeing him.  Owlin proclaimed her completely healed, and gave her permission to leave the clinic if she so chose, and Daemyn offered to show her around the other buildings in the same tree.

            “There are stairs, and bridges,” he explained, “for the very young, and the very old, those who can’t fly very well but still might need to get around.  Private residences almost never have walkways.  We are a private people, and do not like unexpected guests.”

            He always spoke slowly and thoughtfully, putting only as much effort into the words as needed.  Vicky found she was not only able to tolerate his company in ways that she couldn’t bear from Owlin, but that she enjoyed spending time with him.  He was curiously restful to be around; he asked no questions, and made no demands on her; he simply acted as a tour guide, answering the few questions she put to him with an easy grace.

            By the middle of the second month in Anki’janaya, Vicky felt her own moodiness beginning to wear on her, and she actively began seeking out Daemyn’s company. He responded to the lessening of her dark mood by taking her out for what he called “the view” – and which ended up meaning he abruptly grabbed her and leapt off the edge of the clinic’s balcony.  The scream was half-way out of Vicky’s throat before she realised that they were no longer falling – not even in a controlled free-fall – but were instead gaining altitude.  She clung to Daemyn, who had the temerity to laugh at her much the same way Jonas had once, and nervously opened her eyes.  Above her was an endless sea of purple-tinted blue sky, and below her, the anki stretched out for miles.  It took her breath away to see Eversong rolling along beneath her, the only solid contact with Daemyn’s powerful body as his wings worked to keep them both aloft.  He didn’t seem unduly stressed by the adventure when he returned them to what passed for terra firma in Anki’janaya, and was barely breathing hard.

            Vicky turned to him with tears in her eyes.  “Thank you, Daemyn,” she said quietly.  He put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, and offered her a warm smile.  It was the kindest expression she’d seen on his face to date.

            “It was my pleasure.” He nudged her gently towards the entrance of the spacious building they’d landed on, inviting her inside.  “This is my home,” he explained, and she looked around her with renewed wonder.  It was quiet, and looked lived-in without being untidy.  It was very much the same as Vicky had always wanted her own apartment to look like, when she’d been living on Earth and struggling through college in an effort to do something with her life.  It gave off the welcoming air of being somebody’s home; perhaps not yours, but well-loved by someone else and ready to welcome whomever the owner might happen to invite over.

            Daemyn fetched her a small meal, and they ate together in silence as the sun went down.  The serious look he turned on her after they’d cleared what passed for plates among the Aliyans frightened her for a moment.  “Vicky, I want you to know – Aeryn is not the only one who has shared the loss you carry within you.”

            The English words were familiar, but the order in which they were spoken distracted her from their meaning for a few long moments.  Comprehension dawned just as she opened her mouth to ask him to repeat himself.  “Was it your wife? Your lover?” she asked, and hated herself for the bitter edge that crept into her tone.

            “My brother,” he corrected with a quick shake of his head that barely stirred his hair.  The wind grew chilly without the sun to warm it, and as it blew through the trees, the leaves rustled calmly.  The sound was comforting; the whispers sounded like words, and she felt that if she simply listened hard enough, the trees would tell her the secrets of the world.  “With Blayse gone, my parents became very strict with me as I am the last of their line – if something should happen to me, the Aliyans of Anki’janaya would have no ruling house.”

            This too, took a few moments to sink in.  Vicky stared at him, feeling something like real emotions again for the first time since Jonas’ death.  “You’re the prince,” she said accusingly.  He inclined his head in silent agreement, and she gaped at him for a moment.  The wind moved through her unbound hair, shifting it and reminding her that it was getting impossibly long.  Wrapping it into a bun was no longer enough to keep it under control; whenever she needed it out of her face, she was forced to braid it.  Most of the time, she left it flowing freely, finding it too much of a hassle to fight with when all she was doing was exploring the accessible levels of the Clinic’s tree. 

            Another thought caught up to her, and she smiled involuntarily.  _I wonder what my parents and Andrew and Carrie would think of me now – chubby little bookworm Victoria, a soldier and friends with royalty._

“Okay,” she said suddenly, the decision to forget that he was a prince making itself without her input.  His status meant nothing to her, and he was kind in his own strange way.

            “If you would like, you may stay here with me tonight,” he offered.  “I have books, if you find yourself becoming bored.”

            Her smile widened, and she felt almost happy again briefly.  “I’d like that,” she said graciously, thanking him.

 

            Once again, it was enforced idlenesss that turned her attention back to the only things she knew how to do to keep her mind occupied.  Daemyn caught her doing laps around the tree he called home, and somehow, the discussion turned to fighting.  

            “I wasn’t good enough,” she admitted to him one night after they’d eaten.  “I was trained by both of them – high captains of the Mir’lian Royal Guard, and I still wasn’t good enough.  But I’m not going to let him have died for nothing.  I intend to fight the Mir’naam, if I have to do it myself.”

            Daemyn reached out and touched two fingers to the back of her hand.  “You will not fight alone, Vicky,” he said, his calm voice belying the steel that ran in undertones.  “I will fight with you, for I owe the Mir’naam lives of my own.”

            “But you can’t fight,” she protested.  His normally-pleasant expression melted into one of surprise and consternation.  “You’re the only heir,” she reminded him. “If something happened to you - your parents, your people…” she trailed off, unwilling to voice the thought that the Aliyans would be left with only an aging king for a monarch.

            “We all do what we must, Victoria Brightblade,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.  “Blayse knew what he was doing when he went to battle.  As do I. You do not fight alone.”

            Vicky closed her eyes and leaned back, absorbing his words.  _Blayse knew what he was getting into,_ she thought.  _And he still went.  Jonas did too. He knew that he could die at any time, and he still threw himself into it.  I’ve been doing no credit to him, moping around here and doing nothing.  It’s time I got my life back._

            “I noticed your knives,” she said suddenly, gesturing to the two wicked-looking blades hanging on the wall.  “Is that what you fight with?”

            Daemyn rose from his seat gracefully, and plucked the weapons from the wall.  “This is what I fight with, yes,” he said.  “They are difficult to learn, and require a certain amount of ambidextrous skill.  They are not the only weapons in the Aliyan arsenal, however.”

            Vicky watched him spin the two blades expertly between his long fingers, and agreed that they would do her more harm than good.  “I lost my sword in the battle,” she told him. 

            “We will find you a replacement in the morning, and then begin training.  We of the forest do not fight in the same manner as those on the ground; I believe you would find it a learning experience.  Starting tomorrow, we will take the first step forward towards our goal of avengement.”

           

            True to his word, Daemyn woke her the next morning as the sunlight was just starting to creep through the trees.  They went together to fetch Vicky a new sword, and she was startled to learn that the designs of the two weapons were completely different; where the Mir’lian blades were short and almost stocky, Aliyan blades were long and thin, curving slightly at the middle so that the tip, when the sword was held out straight from the body, was slightly higher than the hilt. 

            She gave it a few experimental swings, and discovered that the weight was entirely different as well.  Lighter in her hand and quicker for the loss of mass, she nearly dropped it more than once, thinking that she was using the amount of force necessary to accomplish the goal of getting the blade through the thick, stiffened leather that passed as armour among the elves, when in fact she wasn’t swinging hard enough, and the blade bounced and trembled in her hand. 

            “Again,” Daemyn said sternly, moving through drills of his own in a deadly graceful dance while still managing to keep an eye on her progress.  Vicky adjusted her grip on the sword, switched it to her left hand, and shook her right out to clear it of the tingling feeling from the ricochet.  Moving the weapon back into her right hand, she set her feet apart and swung again, feeling a little bit like she was playing baseball again with Coach Lindle breathing down her neck about watching the ball.  He’d moved to Ocean Lakes high school from a prestigious university up north, and was unaccustomed to the slack most of his students poured into their work in the gym.  Vicky herself was just as guilty as any other of shirking the game, more interested in standing next to Andrew and making fun of the skinnier girls who made pathetic attempts to play.  When it was her turn, she always played furiously at first, wanting to out-play the girls who constantly looked down their noses at her.   Gradually she learned what Coach Lindle would and wouldn’t put up with, and her attempts to succeed slacked off. 

             Daemyn was no Coach Lindle, and despite his general mildness, he refused to take anything less than her level best no matter what she was doing.  When he saw that she was growing bored of swinging the sword around, he moved her onto hand-to-hand combat, which was again as different from the Mir’lian ways as night was from day.  He was a true master of martial arts; she doubted Jackie Chan could have done any better at some of the things he taught her.

            The only time either of them had trouble was when Vicky noted he was overcorrecting his motions to account for his wings.  “If I do that, I’ll fall over,” she pointed out one afternoon.  “I don’t have fifteen feet of feathers behind me to keep me on my feet.”

            This drew him up short, and he studied her.  “You’re right,” he said, and together they modified the motions to account for her winglessness.  The more they worked on it, the more Vicky found the Mir’lian and Aliyan methods blending, so that it was often difficult for even Daemyn to pick out which style she was using.   After she’d had some time to think about this, it began to make her feel better about everything that was going on around her; she was alone, she’d lost the first person she’d ever felt strongly about, and she was on a mission to destroy the Mir’naam for their crimes against her, but she still had something that was uniquely hers, something that no one was going to take away from her ever again.  

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

            _Four months._

            She’d been in Anki’janaya for four whole months, and couldn’t believe where the time had gone.  She’d spent the first week unconscious, so that didn’t really count, but after she’d gotten out of the bed, the time had simply flown by.

            Vicky’s lips twisted into a cold smile at the choice of words, watching a pair of Aliyans float gracefully by the window of Daemyn’s house, powerful wings pumping against the wind to keep them aloft.  The thought of Jonas, and all the lost opportunities he’d represented still caused her pain, a sharp dagger-like sensation straight through her heart, but the soul-sucking apathy that she’d started to settle into before Daemyn started talking to her was gone.  She had something to live for after all, and if she couldn’t muster up the energy to care about learning to fight, then there would be no way for her to avenge Jonas’ death. 

            _His murderer is dead,_ she thought absently, watching the sun struggle into the sky above the tops of the massive trees.  _But not the ones who spawned his killer.  They’ve taken so much more than Jonas.  Daemyn’s brother, and Aeryn’s family.  Those kids from Kahlen. They’re not going to stop there unless someone else stops them.  The Mir’lian are fighting just to keep their heads above water, and the humans don’t have any sort of military, from what Danica told me. The Aliyans only care if the Mir’naam are knocking down their door.  There’s no one else.  I’ll do it myself if I have to, but the dying stops_ now.

            The draped fabric that served for doors in Anki’janaya swished slightly, and Vicky turned her attention from contemplation of the city.  Daemyn entered, looking grimmer than she’d ever seen him.

            “Vicky, I must speak to you,” he said unhappily.  She wondered about it, but nodded.

            “I need to talk to you, too.  I’ve got to get out of here.  I’m not doing any good just moping around here, and outside, the Mir’naam are getting reorganised.  They might not stop with kidnapping next time, especially if they get their hands on Ember again.”

            This did not seem to improve Daemyn’s mood any, although Vicky had learned better than to take it personally by now.  He seemed to have three settings; asleep, training, and apathetic. There was just no ruffling him.  Vicky often wondered, in her lighter moods, if she suddenly sprouted wings and flew away into the sunset, if his expression would change at all, or if he would mildly wave good bye and go back about his business.

            It was that very unflappability that saved her, however.  He had more than enough to go around, and after several weeks in his company, her own mood had begun to wear on her.  When he gave her the outlet of training, she found that she liked being active; it gave her no chance to dwell on Jonas, and a fantastic opportunity to imagine the waves of Mir’naam her sword would cut down, as soon as she made it out of the tree houses.      

            “My parents – Eryx and Pennelynn – they wish to talk to you tonight.” His expression was slightly strained around the edges of his lips and the corners of his eyes, and Vicky wondered what sort of news they’d passed onto him that made him look that way.  She’d begun to like Daemyn; she didn’t want him being hurt, especially not by his own parents.

            “Is there anything I’ve done?” she asked, and bewilderment flickered across his features briefly.  “You look so tense. I haven’t made some terrible faux pas with the Aliyans, have I? Does living together mean marriage? Is that why you’re so upset?”

            He blinked at her once, twice, and then a small smile curved the edges of his mouth.  “No, cohabitation does not constitute marriage unless both parties are willing.” He flinched slightly, the merest ghost of a motion, and then amended it. “You’ve only lost your husband so recently,” he said tactfully, and then held up a hand to thwart her protestations that she hadn’t _actually_ married Jonas, but had only been seriously considering it.  “There are no laws that speak of marriage here in Anki’janaya,” he said.  “All that is required are two willing people.  There is no ceremony or paperwork, no vows of eternal love to be spoken at midnight.  There is only two people who want to be together, and do so.  She may take his name, as you have done with your Captain, but it is not _mandatory._ ”

            He trailed off into silence, and Vicky realised that that was the longest speech he’d made to her yet.  Funny that it was over something as simple as Aliyan marriage, but she also knew that it was his way of working off whatever had been bothering him.  He looked much more relaxed after his brief monologue, and she grinned at him.  “Sit down somewhere,” she ordered.  “I’ll fix something for lunch.”

            He nodded, looked bemused – clearly he was unused to being ordered around in his own house, but that, Vicky decided, was then.  This was the New Vicky, and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer any more.

            Raiding his small pantry took her all of five minutes, and she had bowls of fruit and bread settled before them both for the afternoon meal.  The Aliyans, she’d learned, didn’t eat meat of any sort.  The Mir’lian ate only certain types of meat, specifically a special deer bred especially for consumption in which all parts of the animal were either edible or useful in some way.  It was a diet she’d become accustomed to during her long tenure with the elves, and it was simple enough for her to switch to the Aliyan way of things. 

            Daemyn gave her a grateful look when she handed him the oddly shaped bowl that passed for dinner-ware.  “Vicky,” he started, looking unhappy – or as unhappy as he ever looked, at any rate.  “I have very much appreciated your company,” he continued, and for a moment she wondered if he was about to kick her out.  “It has been a pleasure of mine to call you friend.”  The fear coalesced, and she wondered if Aeryn would take her in at the Clinic.  “This is the reason it distresses me so to inform you that my parents – they have decreed that you shall not be allowed to leave Anki’janaya.”

            She’d been so prepared to hear something along the lines of, “You have to leave,” that his words didn’t immediately sink in.  “Stay here?” she repeated, dumbfounded.  “But why?”

            “It was not my decision,” he told her miserably.  She felt sorry for him, and searched for something reassuring to say. 

            “You’ve been a good friend to me, Daemyn,” she said softly.  “A very good friend, especially because of … what happened.”  He looked at her then, and understanding shone through his violet eyes.  “If I didn’t … If I wasn’t…” She put her head back and tried to gather her thoughts.  “If it weren’t for the Mir’naam,” she tried again, “I wouldn’t mind staying here with you.  This is a beautiful city, and I love it here.  But I’ve got something more important to do than spend the rest of my life sitting around doing nothing.”

            He nodded grimly.  “After we eat,” he suggested.  “I will take you to my parents, and you may speak to them.”  Humor twinkled in his eyes, faint but there. “You are a persuasive speaker, Vicky.”

            She flushed, remembering years of schooling in which she’d embarrassed herself nine ways from Sunday every time the teachers called on her to answer a question, or to read something aloud.  “That’s something, at least,” she muttered, and he grinned at her.

*

            Vicky stood before the Aliyan king and queen, and stared helplessly at them. 

            “You don’t understand,” she tried again.  “This isn’t just some mad fool quest I arbitrarily decided on.  This is for the good of all Eversong – your people included!”

            Eryx Swift, Daemyn’s father, had passed his expressionless mask and amethyst eyes onto his son.  He turned them on her now, peering down at her from the small platform on which he was standing.  “My people will get along as they always have, Victoria Brightblade,” he said sternly.  “This was not a decision lightly made.  You are the first _amyara_ ever to step foot here in Anki’janaya.  It is not a desire to see you suffer, but a preservation of our sanctity.”

            “Then why did you bring me here?” she demanded.

            His nostrils flared.  “That was not my decision.”

            “Well, it wasn’t mine either,” Vicky snapped, the words out of her mouth before any sense of self-preservation could filter out the venom.  Instead of apologising, she set her feet apart firmly and planted her hands on her hips, staring him down. 

            Daemyn’s mother Pennelynn had, up until this point, remained silent, but when faced with Vicky’s unyielding certainty that she had to leave and Eryx’s steely determination to uphold the preservation of his small society, she interjected quietly.  “The matter is not insoluble.  We must simply come to some sort of understanding over the problems.”

            Eryx conversed quickly with his wife in the airy tongue of the Aliyans, and Vicky regretted that she had only started to learn it.  She followed the conversation by their expressions, and came to the conclusion that Daemyn had gotten his impassivity from his mother.  The more Eryx talked, the more visibly angry he became, until his entire face had turned almost purple with rage.  Vicky held her ground, refusing to show nervousness in the face of his fury.

            “My decision stands!” he shouted at her finally, switching to English easily. 

            “Yes, your _majesty,”_ Vicky said facetiously and spun on her heel, stalking from the large room.  Daemyn waited just outside the massive wooden doors – the only true doors in the entire city, he’d confided to her. 

            “It did not go well,” he surmised from the look on her face, and she turned to him, the anger at the king’s immovability draining out of her now that the source was out of sight.  Unshed tears swimming in her eyes, she sighed. 

            “That’s an understatement,” she said quietly.  “Take me home?”

            He acquiesced quietly.

           

            Later that night, she awoke to the knowledge that she was no longer alone in the room Daemyn had given to her.  Sitting bolt upright in bed, she reached immediately for the long dagger she kept under her pillow.

            “Who’s there?” she demanded, and a soft light emanated from the wall, illuminating Daemyn’s lanky form.

            “Peace, Vicky,” he told her quietly.  “I cannot abide my father’s decision.  Come, we will leave tonight.”

            The words threw her so badly that she simply blinked at him.  “Leaving?”

            “Yes.”

            That was enough for her.  She scrambled out of bed, and donned her clothes, strapping the enchanted bag to her side.  It was looking a little bit worse for wear, she noted, fingering the ragged corners and empty spaces where some of the beading had come loose and fallen away.  _Maybe I’ll have a chance to swing back by Kahlen and pick up another one,_ she mused, and then the excitement of sneaking out without permission crept up on her, and she waited while he gathered up a few of his belongings and a pack of his own. 

            “Come now,” he whispered, and took her in his arms before leaping off the edge of the platform that encircled the tree and supported his house.  He spread his wings, and she braced herself for the jolt that the sudden movement brought, and then they were away, clearing past the rows of ancient trees.  Vicky looked over her shoulder as the city fell away behind them, and decided she wasn’t sad to leave it. 

            She had something important to complete, after all.


	13. Chapter 13

 

            The first day on the road with Daemyn made Vicky long for her horse.  _Tana would have been better company,_ she griped silently.  He was utterly uncomplaining about being forced to walk at her pace, rather than fly, and there was no way he was strong enough to carry her all the way to – wherever they ended up – but that was the majority of the problem.

            _He didn’t talk._   At all.  Not a good morning, good night, excuse me, not a word.  _He’s got his reasons,_ she tried to tell herself when night fell at the end of their first day.  _He never really talked much anyway, when we were living in his home,_ but the unending silence was starting to wear on her.  Not talking much degenerating to not uttering a single syllable had her ready to tear her hair out.  _Even Jonas talked more than this to me, and that was when we couldn’t stand each other!_

Several months of traveling with Danica had taught Vicky that the best way to pass the time was to talk, or sing.  She’d gotten along without things like her computer and her cell phone alright, although she silently admitted to missing her mp3 player on occasion.  Without electricity or any major forms of entertainment, people kept themselves amused with songs and stories, especially while travelling.

            The last vestiges of sunlight vanished from the small clearing they were traversing between the Aliyans Anki and the slightly smaller, less densely packed trees of the Kah’makh.  Daemyn turned to her, his expression solemn.             

            “Please forgive me my silence,” he said quietly.  “I have shamed myself by running, although I know I had no other choice.  It is customary to retain a full day of silence in the wake of leaving our city, to mourn those who will not return.”

            She was so startled by the unexpected revelation that her anger evaporated immediately.  “It’s… its fine,” she said haltingly, wondering what someone was supposed to say to that.  _Does he think one of us won’t be coming back?_

            Vicky refused to dwell on that possibility, and they left it at that and set about making themselves a makeshift campsite. She felt happier now that she was back out on the road instead of stagnating in a city she could barely get around in on her own.  The sight of thousands of stars above her head and the still-unfamiliar constellations brought her comforting memories of time spent with Danica, and later Jonas. 

            For the first time in months, thoughts of him didn’t carry with them an immediate desire to curl up and cry.  She thought of something her mother had said once, when her grandmother had died.  _It’ll always hurt, and you’ll always miss her, but as long as she’s in your heart, she’ll live forever._  

            Now, she found the words to be true.  Jonas was no longer alive, but his memory was as fresh and sweet as the morning dew on the grass, before the sun burned it away and heated the day.

            Comforted by Daemyn’s silence and her own memories, Vicky closed her eyes and was asleep within minutes.

*

            Another two days travel brought them to the Asha river, a massive sprawling thing that stretched from the Bay of Elafadrin, near Shu’ma, all the way down the continent where it split off into two by Ashteel, a small, run-down human settlement on the south-eastern edge of Eversong. 

            Vicky eyed the river nervously; she was a strong swimmer, but she didn’t know if Daemyn would make it across or if his wings would drag him down.  She didn’t really trust the current, either; years of living near the Atlantic ocean had taught her that riptides and undertows could sweep the most experienced swimmer far out to sea before they had a chance to even call for help.

            “I can carry you across,” Daemyn offered in his quiet, off-hand way.  Vicky looked at him, startled; she’d grown so accustomed to walking that the fact that he could actually fly had somehow slipped out of her mind.  _Old habits die hard,_ she said to herself, and then grinned at him.

            “Are you sure?” The words held a note of teasing, and Daemyn took it in stride, taking two long steps towards her before snatching her up by the middle and launching into the air. 

            She let out a shriek before she could stifle it; when he carried her on his flights, he normally held her in an embrace, his hands wrapped around her ribs and supporting her weight with his arms.  Tucked against his side like a recalcitrant child was a new experience, and not one she wished to repeat.  The sight of so much rapidly moving water, directly below her, was enough to freak her out entirely.  All it took was for him to lose his grip, and she would be lost to the white waves pummeling their way down the river’s bed.

            All too soon – but not soon enough for Vicky – they reached the far bank, and he set her gently on her feet with the ghost of a smirk dancing at the corners of his mouth.          “Yes, I am sure,” he said confidently, ignoring the dark look she sent at his back as he continued walking, angling himself by the sun.

            “Your goal is to reach Shu’marra, is that correct?” he asked her.  It belatedly occurred to her that she hadn’t actually had a destination in mind; she just wanted to get out of Anki’janaya, and get moving again.  The thrill of being on the road again had somehow dimmed the necessity for an actual plan beyond ‘storm Azerus’ gates and demand to be taken to the Mir’naam city of Girvanni.’

            She took only a moment to think it over, however.  “Yes, Shu’marra,” she agreed.  She needed to see Danica, to find out if Ember had gotten away safely, and most of all, to inform them of her survival and Jonas’ demise.    

            “It is that way,” he said simply, pointing.  Vicky peered at the sun, and surmised that they were far south of their eventual destination, but that it wouldn’t be more than a week’s travel by foot.  She missed Tana more than ever.  The faithful mare had become as much of a friend to her as Danica was, and it felt strange to be walking again. 

            They made camp at nightfall, but just as they were lying down to sleep, Vicky was disturbed by a distant sound.  She couldn’t make it out clearly, but it sounded like someone in distress.  “Daemyn,” she started, but he was already on his feet.

            “I hear it,” he replied, and together they quickly gathered their bedrolls and stamped the fire out, intending to find the source. 

            It wasn’t a terribly long walk.  They came upon a small child strung up between two trees in some sort of net; hers was the voice they had heard, calling for help.  She looked up at their arrival, terror evident on her face.  After a few silent moments, the girl must have decided that they weren’t her enemies, for the fear relaxed and gave way to relief. 

            “Thank the blessed Lady,” she breathed. “Can you get me out of this thing?”  She wiggled ineffectually, doing nothing but swinging gently in the net.  Vicky eyed her for a moment, but she didn’t seem to be dangerous.  Still, appearances could be deceiving, and she kept her sword in her hand after cutting the girl free.

            “Who are you?” she asked.  “How’d you end up in the net?”

            The kid climbed to her feet, dusting herself off, and Vicky was startled to notice the filmy, gossamer wings sprouting from her back.  _This is ridiculous,_ she thought in exasperation, but the Faerie – for she could be nothing else – smiled happily.

            “My name’s Fwaipeahala.  That’s a Mir’naam trap, set for my people.  They don’t like us much.  They’re really bad and I hate them so much!  But that’s not the point, either, what’s your name?”

            After several days of Daemyn’s companionable silence, the girl’s enthusiastic energy was disconcerting.  As she spoke, her face leapt with emotion and her hands gestured expansively in time with her words.  Now that she was standing at her full height, Vicky realised she wasn’t actually a child; although the girl – _and how is that name pronounced? –_ stood only four feet high at the most, beneath the baggy tunic she wore was a fully developed body. 

            “Vicky Brightblade,” she said, with only a passing twinge at the reminder.  “This is Daemyn Swift.  I’m sorry, repeat your name?”

            Daemyn nodded silently as he was introduced, more interested in sizing this new woman up.  He was fully two feet higher than she was, and although his face was as serene as ever, Vicky was adept at reading subtle signs of discomfort in his features, and knew that he wasn’t very comfortable with the tiny woman. 

            “Fwaipeahala,” she repeated, all smiles now that she was free of the trap.  “Fwaip for short.”

            The nearest approximation Vicky could make on that was Faye, for it sounded like _Fwayahara_ when the Faerie rattled it off.  “Faye,” she decided, and the girl twinkled at her. 

            “If you like,” she accepted.  “Hey, thanks for rescuing me! I really owe you one now.  Is there anything I can help you with? My home’s not far from here, I can at least give you a bed to sleep in or something, right?” Short blonde hair rippled around her tiny features.  The most startling thing about her, aside from her height, was the delicacy of her features and the size of her eyes.  They seemed to be too large for her face, and in the glow of the lantern Daemyn had lit while she was speaking, Vicky could make out strange patterns in the irises. 

            “I do not see any reason why we cannot accept for one night,” Daemyn decided, looking to Vicky for confirmation.  A bed _did_ sound rather heavenly; she’d never quite acquired the knack to sleeping on the ground, especially in the Kah’makh, where the roots were almost as numerous as leaves.

            “Great, fantastic, that’s really wonderful!” Faye lilted, and Vicky was surprised by the total lack of sarcasm in the words.  She sounded as though she was really excited to have them over. 

            “Uh,” Vicky started, and looked at Daemyn.  He towered over her; she estimated he was nearly six feet tall, if not larger. 

            Faye laughed, a merry, tinkling sound that reminded Vicky strongly of someone.  “No worries, no worries!” she reassured them.  “We don’t often have tall folk over to visit, but we’ve got plenty of space you’ll be totally fine, just trust me.”

            “Is it far to your home?” Daemyn ventured again, and Vicky shot him a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye.  He actually sounded interested, which for him was something of an event.  Already she felt stretched between Faye’s hyperactivity and Daemyn’s unruffled manner, and wondered if she’d make it to Faye’s home without strangling one or the other. 

            “No, not far, not really,” Faye assured them.  “It’s just over that hill there, and a little ways through the woods.  We can be there in twenty minutes if we walk fast!”

            There was a subsonic humming sound, and her feet lifted from the ground.  She hovered there for a moment, and then zoomed ahead.  “Follow me! Don’t get lost!”

            Vicky exchanged a glance with Daemyn, and then shrugged, setting off at a steady loping pace that the Aliyan kept up with easily.    
            Faye darted ahead of them, and every so often Vicky caught a glimpse of a light surrounding the Faerie girl.  _Tinker Bell,_ she thought placidly.  _I got stuck with Tinker Bell for a hostess._   _Does that make me Wendy? I guess Daemyn’s Peter Pan, then._ She giggled at her own thoughts, ignoring the curious look Daemyn passed to her.

            The Faerie was as good as her word, and less than half an hour later, they arrived at a wooden gate hung between two trees.  It was fashioned in such a way as to be nearly invisible if one was looking directly towards it; when her eyes focused, all Vicky could make out was a vague outline and more trees behind it.  Faye flitted up to the top of it and seemed to say something, for a moment after she leaned towards the gate, a massive boom echoed through the trees and a light formed between the two ‘doors’.  They swung apart, revealing an enormous city, golden and sparkling even in the light of the two pale moons.  After months of seeing nothing but the browns and greens of Anki’janaya, so much colour at once was dazzling, and Vicky had to shield her eyes and squint to get a good look at the buildings.

            “Welcome to my home!” Faye piped from above the two travelers. “This is Ayalan, the City of Faeries.”

*

            They didn’t see as much of it as Vicky would have liked, mostly due to the dazzling colours overwhelming her and leaving her half-blinded as she stumbled through the well-lit streets after the Faerie girl. She had enough presence of mind to be grateful that there were proper streets _to_ stumble through. 

            The city, although sprawling, seemed to be smaller than Anki’janaya – that was Vicky’s first impression of it, however, and in the back of her mind she admitted that it could have been simply packed tighter together; the Faeries they passed on their way were anywhere from less than a foot tall – the children, Vicky surmised – to just under five feet, which still put them several inches shorter than she was.  Such tiny bodies, most of whom spent more time in the air than doing anything so banal as _walking_ didn’t seem to need much room to move around in; the Aliyans, on the other hand, had much taller bodies, and larger wingspans, and needed the extra space so that they didn’t collide with one another mid-flight. 

            Faye made an excellent tour-guide as she floated some fifteen feet above the two travelers, and kept up a running monologue about the city’s history.

            “We had to seal it off from the rest of Eversong when the Mir’lian went to war with the Mir’naam, about fifty years ago as the humans reckon it.  That was before my time, so all I know is what other people have told me about it, and I don’t really see the need, because even though we’re so close to the Mir’naam they really don’t come through this part of the woods much, I guess they think it’s haunted or something.  They tell the most awful stories about us, though, did you know?  I’ve heard things about them, really awful things like how they threaten their children with sending them into our forest and leaving them there for the Faeries to take, as if we’d want anything to do with such nasty people like them!”

            Vicky was exhausted just listening to her.  The stream of words was cut off as a large house drew into sight, and Faye gave an excited shriek.

            “This is my home, come on hurry up! I need to tell everyone that I’m safe. You guys are heroes, you know, you totally rescued me from that trap I probably would have _died_ if you hadn’t come. I was at my wits end I just couldn’t figure out how to get free and I was too far from the city for anyone to hear me, I thought I was a goner for sure!”

            Daemyn glanced at Vicky out of the corner of his eye, and she gave him a small smile.  It was like dealing with an excitable child.          

            The doors swung open as they approached, and Vicky’s tired eyes took in six tiny bodies throwing themselves into the air, shouts ringing out as Faye met up with them and everyone started talking at once.  Faye remembered her rescuers not long into the fracas, and sent everyone to the ground to introduce them.

            A matronly Faerie woman, not many inches taller than Faye, embraced both Daemyn and Vicky.  “Thank you for freeing my daughter,” she said.  Her face was heavily lined, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled warmly.  “We feared the absolute worst when she disappeared.  My name is Shlianamurara.  I hold no real rank here, but I suppose the closest human approximation would be Queen.  Faerie queen,” she added slyly, and Vicky found herself liking this woman. 

            “Vicky Brightblade,” she introduced herself, and received a startled glance in return.

            “Brightblade? I thought…” Shlianamurara shook her head.  “We will discuss it inside.  Please, enter and be welcome travelers! Tonight is a good night.  Anything you require will be brought to you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”  A tall – for the Fae – man alighted on the ground next to them, and Shlianamurara grinned at him.  “This is my husband, Karevr.”

            He eyed them sternly, his face growing more and more impassive until finally Vicky thought that they would find themselves in similar circumstances to Anki’janaya, the threat that they wouldn’t be allowed to leave hanging over her head.  When the tension reached a breaking point, the mask shattered and he threw his head back and laughed. “Welcome, strangers, welcome! Shian, why are you still out here talking? Get them inside, can’t you see that they’re exhausted?”  He eyed Daemyn, a little nervously Vicky thought. 

            “This is Daemyn Swift,” she introduced, and Daemyn nodded in friendly silence.  Around so many chatterboxes, Vicky decided, he would never speak again.

            “You’re Aliyan,” Karevr noted.  “Been a long time since I’ve seen one of your people in this neck of the woods.  What brings you here?”

            Vicky couldn’t answer this for him, and she let him decide what he’d say on his own.  Shian and Faye were beckoning from the gates of the large manor house, several more people ranged behind them.

            “I accompany Vicky on her journey,” she heard him say, and then she was too far away to hear the rest.  Faye leaped at her, hugging her tightly.

            “It’s so good to be home!” she shouted.  “You’re so cool, hey is that a sword? Mum, did you see the sword she’s carrying?”

            Shian sighed, apparently used to her daughter’s exuberance.  “Fwaip, let the girl alone.  She needs food and rest now, and she’ll get neither with you hanging on her like that.” Shian turned to Vicky as Faye let go and flit over to the four gathered a short distance away.  “Thank you again for bringing my baby back,” she said warmly.  “Please, come inside.  These are my children; you know Fwaip, this is my eldest daughter Mipyaralfaho, and my sons, Aren, Trenor, and Riern.”

            Vicky was boggled by the names. “May I call you Mia?” she asked Faye’s sister, and was given permission with a shy smile.  Faye sighed dramatically.

            “Oh, she gets asked, does she? I don’t mind, I kinda like the name Faye. Hey, mum, from now on you call me Faye, okay?”

            Shian nodded absently, on her way to extract Daemyn from Karevr’s friendly interrogation.  Mia was the spitting image of her mother, her white-blond hair falling around her ears and framing a petite, heart-shaped face. 

            “Come,” she said softly.  “I will show you inside.  I think we have things to discuss; there were rumours that you had died.”

            “Maybe she’s a ghost!” One of the boys – Riern and Trenor were twins, Vicky noted, and she couldn’t tell one from the other – suggested.  Aren shook his head. 

            “No such thing as ghosts, Trenor,” he denied his brother, and Vicky suddenly found herself flanked by the twins. They patted her hair and shoulders, touching her clothes and bag, and then exchanged a look.

            “She’s real,” they chorused, and then vanished abruptly.  Vicky looked up, and saw them racing towards the house.

            “Please excuse them,” Aren said kindly, and offered his hand.  “Vicky Brightblade.  This is indeed an honour, my lady,” he said.  “I would very much like to know of your travels; word of you reached us even here in our sanctuary.  You are a hero to the Mir’lian, the rescuer of their princess from the clutches of the Mir’naam.  This is indeed a day blessed by Kinut.” 

            The sun god, Vicky noted.  _Such a strange world.  So many different peoples, but they all worship the same._   It was much different than what she was accustomed to on Earth, where so many religions went to war, all convinced that theirs was the one and only and prepared to die to prove it to the others. She was more startled by that revelation than she was by the fact that she was a seeming celebrity.  _One day,_ she decided, _I’ll figure out how so many different races decided on the same set of deities to worship._

            Daemyn joined her a moment later, and they were herded into the massive house.  A lavish table was set, and Vicky forgot her exhaustion in the face of such hospitality.  Daemyn looked faintly bemused by the goings on around him, quite unsure of how he was supposed to react to such energy.  It fairly crackled around the Faeries, and they were constantly in motion.  It was dizzying after so many weeks among the Aliyans, who rarely troubled themselves to expend more energy than was absolutely necessary for whatever task they happened to be undertaking. 

            As they sat down to eat, Vicky started to ask how they knew of her, and why Shian was so surprised by her name.  Before the words were out of her mouth, there was a tussle at one end of the table as one of the twins flicked some sort of vegetable – it resembled a pea, but it was bright blue – at his brother, and received a glassful of water in his face for his efforts.  Shian had a strained expression on her face that her children would behave so atrociously in the presence of guests, and offered Vicky an apologetic look.  Daemyn laughed at their antics, a quiet chuckle from beside her.

            “It’s okay,” Vicky reassured the woman, but her words were drowned out as Faye upset an entire bowl of the strange peas trying to break up the ensuing fight.  Order was returned, the table cleaned and a fresh bowl brought before Vicky had a chance to say anything.  “I’ve been… out of touch since that battle,” she said tactfully.  “I’d like you to tell me anything and everything you can about what’s been happening these last few months.”   

            Shian was happy to fill her in. “We’re a little bit out of the way here in Ayalan,” she said as she ate.  “But that doesn’t mean we’re totally out of touch with what goes on outside our gates.  Several weeks ago, word reached us that the Mir’lian princess had been taken by the Mir’naam, likely a strike in retaliation for whatever happened to Zeeki.  The next thing we heard was that the Mir’lian were on the hunt, and that Ember had been restored to her people, but the price paid was the entire party who’d found her, including the stranger from the human world-” she gave Vicky a pointed look, indicating her, “-and the High Captain of the Royal Guard, Jonas Brightblade.  The bodies of the fallen were returned to Shu’mar for cremation, all except one.”

            “Mine,” Vicky said humorlessly.  Shian nodded.

            “It was assumed that you had been taken by the Mir’naam, though rumours told that you were also dead – Ember claimed to have seen it with her own eyes.  We were fair puzzled as to why the Mir’naam would – excuse me – steal a body, no matter who she happened to be.”

            By this point, the entire table was quiet, listening with fascination as Shian told her story.  Vicky felt the eyes of the twins on her as they realised exactly who they were dealing with, and tried not to let it bother her.

            “Outraged by both the murder of Captain Brightblade and the abduction of Ember, the Mir’lian have declared an all out war.” Shian turned a serious look on her.  “I was led to believe your name was Victoria Crawford, which is in and of itself unusual.  Yet you introduced yourself as Captain Brightblade’s wife?”

            Vicky smiled sadly.  “Jonas was my … chosen one,” she said carefully.  She didn’t think ‘boyfriend’ would translate well – they spoke English like natives (of England, no less)  but she didn’t think that the concept of a boyfriend was an easy one to grasp to people who had grown up without it – and she didn’t feel that ‘lover’ was appropriate, given the approximate age of Faye and the twins.  “We would have married, had he lived.”

            Shian’s eyes turned sad, understanding without explanation.  “I’m sorry,” she offered, and Vicky nodded quickly, fighting back an unwelcome urge to cry.

            “You said that my name is unusual?” she asked to change the subject.  “I’ve gotten some strange looks about it before, but no one explained.”

            Shian looked surprised, exchanging glances with her husband.  “My dear, you’re not the first person to come to Eversong with the last name of Crawford.  Who was it, John?”

            Vicky was startled.  “Grandpa?”

            Karevr shook his head.  “No, that was a long time ago.  It was the other one.  What was his name? The little one, the boy.”

            Aren spoke up from the end of the table.  “Wasn’t it Timothy?” Shian nodded.

            “That was it, then, yes. Timothy.  Said he’d been visiting with his grandfather, John, and discovered a book.  He went to sleep next to it, and woke up here in Ayalan.  Poor thing was frightened out of his mind; seemed to think we were a dream.”

            Vicky’s face was white. “ _What?_ ”

            Shian seemed to realise that she’d said the wrong thing.  “Why, what is it? Do you know him?”

            At her side, Daemyn placed a hand on her shoulder.  “Vicky?” She didn’t hear him.

            “My father?” They must have been joking.  But how many John and Tim Crawfords could there be out there?  “This is a cruel joke,” she said testily.  Karevr looked puzzled.

            “No joke, Vicky,” he assured her.  “John Crawford came here many, many years ago, when I was still a child.  Aren was just a few years old when Timothy came, but they were very clearly related.  Now that I’m looking at you, I can see the family resemblance.  You have the same face.”

            “How is Timothy?” Aren asked eagerly.  “He was only here a few days before Mum and Dad took him to the Mir’lian and sent him through that door of theirs, but we got on smashingly then. I really missed him when he left.”

            Shell-shocked, Vicky couldn’t do anything but shake her head.  “I’m sorry?” she asked finally.  “He’s… he’s fine?  He married my mother – obviously – his high school sweetheart, they like to tell me. He’s a photographer now.”

            They looked pleased by the news that Tim was doing well.  Numbly, Vicky excused herself from the table.    
            “I think I need to go lay down,” she said.  Daemyn rose, putting an arm around her shoulder to keep her upright.

            “Of course, dear. That’s quite a shock you must have had; Faye, show them to the guest room please.”

            Faye leapt up happily.  “Sure!  Come on, Vicky, it’s this way.” She drifted down the hall and Vicky stumbled after her, assimilating the news.  She would have fallen if Daemyn wasn’t supporting her, and she had enough presence of mind left to shoot him a grateful look. 

            When they were alone in the guest room, she sank onto the bed, one hand over her mouth.  Daemyn seated himself on the other bed, peering at her intently.

            “Will you be alright?” he asked, all gentle concern.  Vicky gave him a tight smile.

            “How do you react to something like this?” she asked him, and he shrugged unhelpfully.

            “You seem to be doing an alright job of it.”

            “Thanks.”

            He regarded her in silence.  “Does this change anything?” he asked finally, and she thought about it.  Her family had a history of showing up unexpectedly in this world.  It did something to explain why she was here; there was something in her blood, maybe, that acted as a catalyst to open the gates between the worlds.  Her plans crystallized in that moment; she hadn’t given any thought to what she would do after defeating the Mir’naam.  She supposed she’d have gone to live quietly somewhere, perhaps in Shu’marra, or, if the memories there were too painful, Kahlen.  Anki’janaya was a possibility, if Eryx would deign to let her return after she’d behaved so abominably to him. 

            Staying was no longer an option.  Neither was dying.  She had to get home now; with Jonas gone, there was nothing to keep her here, and she had to find out if the story was true – had to know if Tim had really come here as a child.

            It might explain a lot, she realised.  Why her father was so imaginative and flighty, while her mother was the most grounded person Vicky had ever known.  If he’d visited a world full of Faeries and elves and magic as a child, he would be unable to look at anything too seriously again.  She knew that when she returned, she’d always be looking around the corner for something unusual; this experience would stay with her for the rest of her life.

            And she wanted to get home to talk to him about it.  Had he known the same people? Had he met Jonas as a child? Danica? Aren said they’d been friends briefly, in the way small children instantly adapt to one another, going from total strangers to best friends inside the span of five minutes.  Would he remember Aren?

            “Vicky?”

            She shook her head, returning abruptly to the here-and-now.  “No, Daemyn,” she said quietly.  “It doesn’t change anything.  But it explains everything.”  She lay down, drawing the covers over her body despite the warmth of the room.  “Good night,” she whispered softly. 

            “Good night, Vicky,” he whispered back.  Her eyes closed and she slipped quietly into sleep.

*

            The next morning after a terrific breakfast, Vicky and Daemyn prepared to leave, setting out once again for Shu’marra.  Now more than ever it was important that Vicky speak to Galahan; she needed to know more about her father visiting, and they needed to know that she was alive.  Not to mention the amount of help she could deliver, having trained with Daemyn in the Aliyan martial styles. Something niggled in the back of her mind, dancing just out of reach when she reached fully for it. This game of hide and seek with her own thoughts grew tiresome after the first thirty seconds or so, and she shoved it to the back of her mind, to reflect on when she’d reached Galahan.

            She hugged Shian and Faye, thanking them for their gracious hospitality, and she and Daemyn received an open invitation to come back at any time; all they needed to do was enter the Kah’makh with the intent to reach Ayalan, and a guide would appear to them if they were too far from the gates. Aren grinned boyishly at her.

            “Give my regard to Tim when you see him again, please?” he asked, and she grinned back, wondering how that conversation would go.  She promised she would, and Karevr stood next to Daemyn, staring up at him.  Vicky was reminded of a Chihuahua standing next to a Great Dane, the height difference was so vast, and the Faerie king gripped his arm, the highest he could reach.

            “I welcome you to Ayalan, Prince of the Aliyans,” he said formally.  “I hope that this will be the beginning of relations between our peoples; it is not good to remain in such isolation for so long.”

            Daemyn nodded.  “My father is a wise ruler,” he replied easily.  “He will understand the need to break our seclusion.  If he does not, I will do it myself. He will not be _rayaj_ forever.”

            “Rayaj?” Vicky asked, drawing closer to them. 

            “King,” Daemyn answered, and the Faeries all nodded their understanding.

            Faye hugged Vicky again.  “Thank you so much!” she whispered fiercely.  “Don’t forget me, okay?”

            Vicky laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. “I’ll never forget you,” she said.  “Any of this. Even if I go home, I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.”

            The farewells complete, Vicky and Daemyn set out once more, all of Ayalan turning out to see them off.  Vicky turned back at the gates, taking in every detail of the colourful city and crowd of Faeries all cheering and waving.  _If I were an artist,_ she thought, _I would immortalize this.  Is there anything so beautiful on Earth?_

*

             They’d been walking all day when Vicky first felt the prickling on the back of her neck that told her something was following her.  It was disconcerting at best, and she felt tense as she and Daemyn made camp for the night.  Shortly after the sun drifted below the horizon, she turned to her companion.

            “Daemyn, something’s following us,” she informed him quietly.  He glanced up, startled, and then his eyes shifted to the way they’d come from. 

            “Dangerous?”

            She closed her eyes, thinking about it.  She’d been tracked by skaal and Mir’naam on raids with Danica and Jonas; she knew the feeling of lingering hostility.  This didn’t feel the same to her, but it made her nervous all the same. 

            “I don’t think so. But I still don’t like it.”

            He nodded.  “Build the fire,” he told her, rising gracefully to his feet.  “I will see if I can oust our shadow.”

            She took the stick he’d been using to shift the wood in the small flames, and prodded at it, watching as the fire leapt and danced.  He melted silently into the darkness surrounding them; she drew her sword closer to her, just in case. 

            It wasn’t many minutes later that he returned, an odd grin on his face. 

            “Daemyn?”

            “Not dangerous,” he assured her dryly.  Raising his voice, he spoke into the darkness encroaching on their small campsite. “You may as well come out now.”

            A tiny figure emerged from between the trees, looking sheepish.  As it came closer to the firelight, Vicky gasped in recognition.

            “Faye! What are you doing here?”

            The small Faerie woman shrugged noncommittally, and settled herself beside the fire.  “I’m sick of being cooped up in there,” she said after a long pause.  “I want adventure, to see the world.  That’s what I was trying to do when I ran away the first time, but I ended up getting caught by that stupid trap.”

            Vicky interrupted her. “I thought you said the Mir’naam don’t come in this forest much?”

            Faye awarded her an unhappy look.  “They never have before.  They think we’re demons.  But they’ve been getting braver lately.”

            That hardly needed to be said.  The fact that they’d dared raiding Shu’marra, and abducted the princess was proof enough of their diminishing fear of retaliation.  “That still doesn’t explain why you’re following me. This isn’t a picnic, or an afternoon outing for fun.  I’m going to war. People are going to die.”

            The Faerie flinched. “I understand that,” she said quietly.  “I want to help.”

            Vicky opened her mouth to refute her, and Daemyn held one hand up to stop her.  She paused, wondering what was going on in his mind.

            “You may accompany us to Shu’marra,” he told her.  “After that, it would be better for you to return to your home.  Your family will miss you terribly; it is not easy to go from living happily in a warm house with a soft bed to sleeping outside on the ground.”

            Faye lifted her head defiantly.  “I’m not afraid,” she said, and to her credit, her voice did not tremble.  Her eyes gave her away, however, and Vicky took pity on her. 

            “It’s not about being afraid,” she said quietly.  “It’s about doing what you have to, and making things right.”

            Faye stared at her sword, knowing that she was fully capable of using it.  “You’re not afraid, though,” she argued.  “I’ve heard stories about how you fought to protect Shu’marra, and Ember.”

            “That’s different,” Vicky said, snorting.  She ran a hand through her hair, making a face as it snagged with twigs and leaves.  “I’m terrified all the time,” she admitted. “I’m afraid that I’m going to die before I can avenge Jonas, and make things right. I’m afraid Daemyn’s going to die.” He awarded her a surprised look at that statement, but she ignored it.  “I’m afraid that even if I make things right, nothing’s going to change. I’m afraid that I _can’t_ make things right.”

            Faye absorbed this in silence, staring into the fire.  “It doesn’t change my mind,” she said at last.  “If nothing else, I want to meet Ember.  I heard she and Zeeki were friends, and my father said it first, when he reached out to the Aliyans.” She flicked a glance at Daemyn, who studiously ignored her.  “I won’t be a burden on you,” she said firmly.  “And at the very least, I’ll become the emissary between the Mir’lian and my people.”

            She knew before Faye had stopped speaking that there would be no way to refute her.  The Faerie girl was adamant, and brave for leaving the sanctity of her home to follow two relative strangers into war and death.  “Very well,” she said.  “I won’t argue against it.  But I don’t think it’s a very good idea.”

            Faye beamed at her.  Vicky sighed; this was going to be a very long trek.

 

 

            They were less than a day out from Shu’ma when they first came across the remains of a large campsite.  Vicky read the foot-prints and flat spots in the vast plain as though they were written words in a book, just waiting for someone to open it up.  “Mir’lian,” she announced, and prodded at an empty fire pit.  “Just left, too, the pit’s still warm.  They’ve got maybe two hours lead, and,” she broke off, following the majority of the tracks.  They started from the north, coming from Shu’mar, and mingled at the campsite before starting southwest, angling towards Azerus.  “Crossed the river,” she added. “We probably passed them on the way up.”

            Faye was staring at her, open-mouthed.  “You can tell all that just from the foot prints?”

            Vicky felt her inherent teacher shining through, and called the Faerie over.  “See these little curves here? These are Mir’lian horses; the shoes the horses wear have this little mark etched in them near the top, see?” She pointed at the U-shaped indents in the mud, uniform except for the vaguely star-shaped hole that went deeper into the ground.  “It can be a little difficult to see when they’ve been at a gallop, but when they’re just milling around like this, it’s plain as day.  This was a Mir’lian camp, and they waited until dark to make their move; that means they’ll be going silent and fast, all the better to catch up to the Mir’naam and get them off-guard.”

            Faye absorbed this in fascination.  “That’s so cool,” she said, and peered again at the marks, trying to memorize the way they looked.  Vicky climbed to her feet, and tried to dust herself off; she succeeded only in smearing the mud around further, and gave it up as a lost cause. 

            “Now we’ve got to make a decision,” she said.  “Follow the Mir’lian raiders or continue on to Shu’marra?”

            Faye drifted up into the air, following the footprints as far as they’d go.  Because of her vantage point, she was the first to notice the person wandering the edges of the campsite.  “Vicky!” she shouted, and the two on the ground glanced up at her.  She answered their unspoken question with a finger flung in the direction of the trespasser, and Vicky and Daemyn took off at a run.  Faye floated above them, keeping pace, and watching the man. 

            He looked as startled to see them as they were to see him, but Vicky was gratified to find that he was Mir’lian.  Seeing him felt like coming home.

            “You’re Lady Victoria!” he shouted as she approached.  Vicky looked down at herself – muddy, travel stained, sticks in her hair – and wondered how on earth anyone could recognise her under all the grime.  Much less, call her a lady.

            “Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you…?”

            He stammered for a moment, clearly thinking he was seeing a ghost or a doppelganger, and then pulled himself together abruptly.  His heels clacked together and he actually _saluted_ her.  Faye giggled, drifting down to rest against Daemyn’s shoulders, leaning her chin in his hair.  He gave a long-suffering sigh, but said nothing.  Vicky flicked them an amused glance, and turned her attention back to the soldier in front of her.

            “The party that was camped here, where are they going?” she demanded, and then remembered her manners.  “And are you going to tell me who you are?”  She softened the second sentence, hoping she hadn’t scared him, but he looked happy to have been ordered around.

            “Yes ma’am, I’m Samual.  Captain Skyheart took her division in a supposed retreat from the Mir’naam forces, but the actual plan is to skirt the edges of their base camp, and come up from behind to take them by surprise.  They went that way,” he added, gesturing in the direction of the footprints. Vicky awarded him an amused look.

            “Yes, I could tell.  Thank you, Samual.  Why are you still here?”

            He flushed; Vicky figured this was his first actual mission, and he confirmed it with his next words.  “This is my first raid,” he confided.  “Captain Skyheart decided that I was of better use remaining here and directing any stragglers to the main rally point, five kils west of here.” He looked so dejected that Vicky felt sorry for him.

            “Everyone’s got to start somewhere,” she told him encouragingly.  “Be grateful you’re not out there on the front lines; people die there.” Her expression tightened, and he gasped, suddenly remembering Jonas.

            “Lady Victoria,” he murmured.  “I’m so very sorry.  I … I saw you, with him once.  I’ve never seen two people so in love.”

            She blinked back tears at the reminder, and stiffened her spine.  “Thank you, Samual,” she said quietly.  “Stay here and continue your duties; did Danica give you a time limit?”

            He jerked upright, nodding quickly.  “Three days, she said.  If no one returns in three days, I’m to return to Shu’marra and report.”

            “Good man,” Vicky told him, and then turned to Faye and Daemyn, who were watching the exchange silently.  Faye looked impressed.

            “Wow Vicky! You’re so bossy!”

            She felt a flush working its way up her neck.  “No I’m not,” she argued.  “But I can be.  In fact, I insist on it now.  I want you two to return to your homes.”

            “I will not,” Daemyn argued.  “I promised I would accompany you, and I will not break my word now.”

            Vicky looked at him beseechingly. “Daemyn, you don’t understand.  I can’t ask you to come to war with me; it’s not your battle.”

            “Vicky, you are my friend.  That makes it my battle.”

            She turned to Faye, who immediately shook her head violently.  “I’m not going home either and you can’t make me! I don’t care what sort of a battle it is; I’m your friend too.  I owe you my life. I need a chance to repay the favour!  I know you think I’m some sort of dumb little kid, but I’m really not as young as you think I am, and I do know something about fighting!”

            Vicky looked at both of them, realising that they were both willing to lay their lives down for her, and wondered where she’d gone so right, to deserve such friends.  _I swear I’ll keep them safe,_ she vowed.  _I’ll protect them the way I couldn’t protect Jonas. I swear it._


	14. Chapter 14

            They left Samual behind at the deserted campsite, and followed the evidence of a massive march westwards.  They’d been on the road for three days, and already they had been attacked by two wandering Mir’naam.  They’d had skaal with them; Vicky surmised they were a hunting party, tracking down the stragglers Samual had been waiting for.  She and Daemyn made quick work of the two skaal and one of the Mir’naam.  The other cornered Faye against a tree while they were busy, blocking her chance at an escape.  From the small bag she carried, Faye produced a lengthy staff, and proceeded to ‘hand the Mir’naam’s ass to him’, as Vicky described it later. 

            She and Daemyn were justifiably surprised by her skill; she’d insisted she was able to fight, but secretly, the two taller members of the trio were skeptical.

            When the fight was over, and the three of them were wiping the blood off their weapons, Vicky turned a vicious smile on the Faerie woman.

            “That was amazing,” she said.  “You’ve got to teach me how to fight with that thing.”

            Faye looked surprised by the interest, but grinned happily.  “Sure,” she chirped happily.  Daemyn’s lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile.

            “Mir’lian, Aliyan, and now Fae?” he asked quietly.  Faye shot him a puzzled look, but Vicky answered.

            “I was trained to fight by Danica and Jonas,” she explained.  “It was the alternative to sitting around Shu’marra doing nothing.  When it looked like I wasn’t going to be getting home any time soon, I decided that I could put my skills to use against the Mir’naam.”  She smiled bitterly at the memory.  “It worked,” she continued softly. “But it wasn’t good enough.  I wasn’t good enough.  Not when it mattered.  The Aliyans saved me after Jonas died, and I wound up the exact same position of having absolutely nothing to do, so Daemyn agreed to teach me to fight.  When I picked up everything he could teach me, I started using both styles at one time.”

            Faye turned a delighted look on her.  “That’s amazing.  I was wondering about that; it seemed so different from anything I’ve ever seen before, watching you fight.  It was like a dance.  It was very beautiful!  Of course, seeing you kill those nasty skaal wasn’t very pretty.” She wrinkled her nose, and assumed her now customary position on Daemyn’s shoulder, sitting there easily.  Daemyn wasn’t a large man, but his shoulders were broad to support the weight of the wings, and Faye was small enough that she caused him no discomfort.  Vicky secretly thought he enjoyed the attention.  “Those things are hideous,” Faye continued.  “Where did they even come from? They can’t be natural.”

            Jonas’ voice rang through her memory, as strong and clear as the day he’d said the words. _“Skaal.  Bred by those filthy Mir’naam as hunting dogs, but some got loose and bred in the wild.  At least they do some of my job for me; they’ll kill anything they can catch, including their former masters.”_

            “Skaal were bred by the Mir’naam as hunting dogs,” Vicky parroted, her voice hollow.  Faye and Daemyn both glanced over at her, and she forcibly added some levity to her voice.  “Some of them got free and started breeding in the wild.  The wild ones kill anything they see – even the Mir’naam.”

            “Serves them right,” Faye snorted delicately.  Vicky wondered at the ease with which the tiny woman had wielded her staff, bludgeoning the Mir’naam with skill rather than force.  There still wasn’t much left of him to be recognizable when she was through.  _The Faerie people have problems of their own,_ she realised.  _And not just the Mir’naam.  Why else would they learn to fight like that? Should I ask?_

            Faye was the one to notice something out of the ordinary first; her eyesight was sharper than that of either of her companions, given that her eyes were so large.  “There’s someone over there,” she said, pointing.  Daemyn came to a stop, peering in the direction she’d indicated.  Vicky drew her sword out of its scabbard, prepared for a battle. 

            What she wasn’t prepared for was a young Mir’lian man, dressed as a soldier in the customary armour and wearing a sword at his hip.  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, keeping a grip on her sword without waving it threateningly. 

            He leapt like a startled rabbit, whirling on them with terrified eyes.  “Who are you! What are you doing here? I’m not going back! You can’t make me!”

            Vicky blinked at him, and then switched to Aliyan.  “Deserter, do you think?”

            The boy frowned at her, as did Faye, but Daemyn gave them both a searching look before answering in the same language.  “I do not think so,” he said.  “There is something about him that is familiar, but I cannot place it.”

            “He does remind me of someone,” Vicky mused, and then flipped back to Mir’lian.  “We won’t make you go anywhere, if you tell us who you are and what you’re doing here.”

            He gave them a wild look.  “Jesse,” he said finally.  “Jesse Riverwing.  And who are you! A human, an Aliyan, and a Faerie girl? Two legends and a _human_? You can’t be worth much.”  He said it so offhandedly, like he actually believed it, that Vicky bristled.

            “My name is Victoria Brightblade,” she announced firmly, knowing that if he were Mir’lian, he’d recognise both names.  “These are my _friends,_ Daemyn Swift and Faye.”

            His face paled in recognition, as she knew he would.  “Victoria… _Brightblade?_ Jonas’ woman?  The human protégé that my- that Galahan couldn’t send back to Earth?  That can’t be possible, you’re dead.”

            This was getting tiresome.  “Clearly I’m not!” she snapped, and some of his astonishment melted away as her irritation lit the fuse of his own temper.

            “You are so!” he argued.  “Ember saw you – saw Victoria’s body herself.  Everyone died in that battle except the princess!”

            _What a fantastic little brat!_ Vicky thought, amazed at his audacity.  “Well then who do you think I am, if Vicky’s dead?  An imposter?”

            Daemyn laid a quelling hand on her shoulder, warning her against violence, but she shook it off.  “Vicky, I do not think that-”

            “Quiet, Daemyn,” Faye giggled.  “This looks interesting.  I’ve never seen two people argue like that.  Is it a human custom?”

            Two voices rang out in unison.

            “No!”

            “I’m not human!”  

            “That’s obvious,” Vicky snorted, and he growled at her.  She grinned unexpectedly, and raised her sword.  “Someone needs a lesson in manners.”

            He drew his own sword, and Vicky felt a pang as she recognised the familiar Mir’lian forging.  “Dishonouring the dead,” Jesse said fiercely.  “That’s an unforgivable crime.”

            “Vicky,” Daemyn said again, and once again Faye shushed him.

            “Hush, Dae. Let’s just get out of their way so we don’t accidentally get hit.”

            Vicky snorted, grinning at them.  “You really think I’d miss?”

            “Do not hurt him too badly,” Daemyn sighed, giving in the inevitable.  Rage darkened Jesse’s features at the insult.

            “As if some _girl_ could defeat _me_ in battle. I was trained by the best!”

            Vicky lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? Who?”

            “Jonas Brightblade himself!” Jesse snarled.  Vicky was unamused.

            “So was I.  Danica too. And Daemyn.  There’s no way you’re going to win, Jesse.  Just give up now and spare yourself some embarrassment.”

            He gave a wordless cry and flung himself at her.  Immediately, she realised that he _had_ been trained by Jonas – the moves were too familiar, as was the way he instantly buried his rage in order to fight with a clear head. 

            Unfortunately for him, Vicky was as good as she’d claimed to be, and had absolutely no compunctions about besting him.  She was very careful to hit him with the flat of her sword, however, and when he realised this some of the anger he was keeping in check ripped free. 

            “This isn’t some training session!” he shouted.  “Fight me for real!”

            “Calm down and I might,” she shouted back.  “Jonas must have taught you better than that.” He’d certainly beaten it into her head often enough.

            _“Keep your anger inside, Vicky.  Don’t let it rule you.  Keep your heart hot and your head cool.”_

“Cool head, hot heart,” she snapped at him, and then twisted into a one-handed back handspring to take herself out of his range while he was still in shock over hearing his teacher’s words thrown in his face, before looping around and cutting into his defense and dropping to the ground in the move that had so frustrated Jonas the first time she’d used it on him.  Hooking one leg around Jesse’s knees, she brought him to the ground and sat on his chest.   “Do you believe me now?” she asked, breathing hard.  He scowled up at her, but she’d put her foot down on the wrist that still held his sword, and he couldn’t free it.

            “Fine,” he agreed. “Jonas trained you too.  That still doesn’t make you Victoria.”

            “How about victori _ous?_ ” she asked sweetly, and he growled again.  “Alright, Riverwing, get up.” She climbed to her feet and offered him a hand.  He took it, but didn’t look incredibly happy about it.  “Daemyn, maybe you should talk to him.  Faye, come on, I need to find a spring. There should be one around here.”

            Apparently Jesse _hadn’t_ been raised entirely by wolves, because he flicked a casual glance over at her from where he stood beside Daemyn, and indicated a direction with a flick of his wrist.  “There’s one that way,” he offered, and then Daemyn was speaking.

            “I was with the scout who found the scene of the battle that took place between the Mir’lian and the Mir’naam for the life of Ember,” he was saying.  “Vicky was badly wounded but I can assure you that she was not dead, although she was very close to it when we brought her back to our city.”

            Vicky noted that he didn’t say the name of it aloud, and then they were out of earshot.  Faye turned a dazzling smile on her.

            “He’s a cutey, isn’t he?  I can’t believe he actually challenged you to a fight like that, what a totally stupid thing to do! You totally handed his ass to him” She grinned as she tossed Vicky’s casual words back at her.

            “Cute?” Vicky repeated.  “Stupid, maybe.  And he’s lying.”

            That tripped Faye up, and she sank a little in the air.  “What do you mean he’s lying?  Lying about what? I don’t get it.”

            Vicky grinned.  “When he said his name.  It’s not really Jesse Riverwing.  Didn’t you see how nervous he was when he said it? And when I called him by it after the fight, he flinched a little.  He’s lying about it, I’m positive.” 

            They stumbled across the spring, and Vicky was delighted to find that it was deep enough to really bathe in.  Unconcerned about discovery, she stripped her clothes off and dunked them in the water, washing the mud away before hanging them on a nearby tree-branch to dry out.  She stepped into the water, and Faye settled on the bank, eyeing her scars. 

            “How did you get those?” she asked, referring to the wide slashes from shoulder to hip across Vicky’s back. 

            “The fight that killed Jonas,” the woman said softly, lowering herself into the water.  It was freezing cold, and she shivered slightly, but getting clean was more important than staying warm.  She dunked her head, working through her impossibly long hair – it ended at the backs of her thighs now, and she absently wondered when it had gotten so long – to get the twigs and knots out of it.  Faye was startled into silence, realising that Daemyn’s statement that Vicky nearly hadn’t walked away from that battle suddenly took on new life when she was faced with the reality of the wounds her friend had suffered. 

            The two men rejoined them after Vicky had dried herself off and dressed in one of the spare outfits she kept in her bag.  _Really must get a new one some time soon,_ Vicky told herself, strapping it to her leg.  Jesse was staring at her with a slightly awe-struck look in his eyes, and she sighed, resigned to the hero worship.

            “You really are her,” he murmured.  “I can’t believe you’re alive.  Oh, Goddess, what did I do?” He looked horrified at himself, at his own behavior, and then eyed Vicky as though she would lop his head off for disrespecting her.

            Instead, she laughed.  “You’re so weird, Jesse,” she told him, and he relaxed.  “Now,” she started, serious again.  “I’ll forget that you’re a brat if you tell me what you’re doing out here.”

            He looked chagrined.  “I left Danica’s forces,” he admitted.  “I’m not going to let any more of those people die.  I’ll do it myself if I have to, but I’m going to stop the Mir’naam once and for all.” A new fire lit his eyes from within, and Vicky looked at him speculatively. 

            “There’s not much you’ll be able to do on your own,” she said, and Faye snorted.  Vicky shot her a dark look, and it collapsed into full-blown laughter.  Even Daemyn had the tactlessness to grin at her. 

            “Vicky, that is something of the branch calling the tree brown,” he reminded her, and she scowled at them both.

            Jesse looked interested, however.  “You’re on the same mission,” he speculated.  “Because of Jonas?”

            He’d hit the nail on the head, and they all knew it.  “Yes, because of Jonas.”

            “May I go with you?”   

            Vicky looked startled, and glanced over at Faye and Daemyn.  Faye grinned, nodding quickly, and Daemyn just shrugged. 

            “Certainly,” she said, bewildered.


	15. Chapter 15

            The next few days of walking were a learning experience for the newly formed quartet.  Vicky had had months to get used to Daemyn’s silences, and Faye’s exuberance was slightly muted after so much moving around.  Jesse was the odd one out, the one Vicky couldn’t pin down.  His moods flashed between sunny and bright, to dark and angry with no discernable warning.  She knew he was hiding something, but when she pressed, he denied it.  She’d finally left him with the warning that if it put any of the others in danger, she’d kill him herself.  He looked a little frightened – he knew she could outfight him – but he’d assured her that his secret wasn’t dangerous. 

            That still didn’t make him any more willing to share it with the rest of them.

            They passed by the forest that surrounded the Faerie city, and Faye looked in, feeling homesick.  Vicky caught the look and the sighs more than once, and pulled her aside when they made camp that night.

            “If you want to leave now, I won’t blame you.  It’s not something fun we’re going into.”

            Faye looked at her, startled, and then averted her eyes into the fire Jesse had started.  The dancing flames did strange things to her eyes, Vicky noted, and waited for an answer.  It wasn’t something Faye could be talked in or out of; she had to make the decision on her own.

            “I’ll stay,” she promised quietly.  “I’d be totally useless at home, anyway!” she tempered it with a grin, and cheerful words.  “I’d trip over everything and drop stuff and just generally make a total nuisance of myself wondering how you guys were doing out here.  I’d rather be with you, and then at least I’ll know.  If any of us can get away quickly, it’s me.” She didn’t look pleased by this idea.  “If any of us needs to go for help, it can be me.”

            Vicky put a hand on her shoulder, and then drew her in for a hug.  “You’re terrific, Faye,” she whispered.  “I’m glad I’m not alone.”

            “Oh?” Faye wondered.  “Wouldn’t you like some time alone with Jesse?”

            Vicky awarded her a puzzled look.  “Why would I want that?”

            The Faerie threw her tiny head back and laughed merrily.  “You mean you really haven’t noticed the way he’s looking at you?”

            Vicky’s breath caught in her throat.  Danica had said the exact same thing about Jonas, the night of the ball. _“Can you honestly tell me that you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you lately?”_

            She shook her head.  “It doesn’t matter how he looks at me,” she said fiercely.  “I’ll always love Jonas.  Nothing’s going to change that.”

            Faye gave her a sad look, one that her smile didn’t totally erase from her eyes.  “Nothing has to change that,” she said.  “But sometimes… you can’t hold onto him forever, you know.”

            Vicky jerked back, throwing herself to her feet and walking away.  _I don’t need to be told that!_  She thought furiously.  _I know that I have to let him go some day.  But it doesn’t have to be today.  Or tomorrow.  I don’t need anyone else, and I don’t want any one else.  Jesse’s just a kid, just a kid with a stupid case of hero worship.  I don’t know what the big deal is anyway; I didn’t do anything.  Ember got away, but that wasn’t because of me.  And Jonas died, and that_ was _because of me.  I wasn’t quick enough, I didn’t see enough.  I couldn’t do anything for him. I can’t just forget that.  It’s my fault that Jonas is dead._

            She walked until the fire was just a tiny spot of light in the dark forest, and leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree.  Face buried in her hands, she took advantage of the solitude and cried.

*

            The next day found them wading through a swamp.  It made Vicky incredibly nervous; not only were the trees as thick as they’d been in the Kah’makh, there was several feet of muddy, grimy water to contend with.  More than once, she felt something sliding past her legs, and suppressed a shiver.  Faye was the only one who escaped the sucking mud and freezing water; if she’d tried to walk through it, the water would have come up past her nose in some areas – it was simply safer for her to fly. 

            Jesse complained bitterly about everything; the bugs, the water, the mud, the trees, the moss, even the air, which stank of rotting vegetation.  Daemyn endured in silence, as he always did, though more than once Vicky caught him scowling at Jesse’s back, just as sick of the Mir’lian’s whining as she was. 

            Faye took advantage of being free of the water to scout the path ahead.  She’d taken a large tree limb and poked it into the water at times, testing the depth and seeking out hidden obstacles.  As night was falling on their first day in the swamp, she discovered a semi dry pathway looping from the other direction and continuing the way the party was headed.  Vicky was grateful for the chance to sit down and start a fire, though both Faye and Daemyn were eyeing their surroundings nervously.

            “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing them both glance around for the second time in five minutes.

            “I don’t like this,” Faye said.  “I’ve always known this swamp was here, but my people – there are lights in the swamp that will draw you into the water and drown you.  And other things.  Scouts sent in this direction have reported a horrible howling, like the souls of Drenukh’s damned come back to life, waiting to drag the living back into the Eternal Night with them.” She shuddered in horror, looking around at the darkening swamp.  “I think we’re already there.”

            Drenukh was the god of Death.  Vicky wasn’t amused.  “That’s not a very happy story to tell in this miserable swamp,” she said.  Jesse came back from whatever task had taken him from the party, looking just as unnerved by their surroundings as the other three were. 

            “I don’t like this Lady-damned swamp,” he announced, flopping bonelessly down beside Vicky.  “The map in Galahan’s hall at Shu’marra says that it’s only a day and a half’s travel through the whole thing lengthwise like this, but I don’t feel safe sleeping here.”

            Vicky agreed with him. “We’ll take watches.  I’m first,” she said, knowing that even as tired as she was, she’d never be able to relax enough to sleep.

            “I’ll stay up with you,” Jesse said, drawing his sword free of its sheath. Vicky took the hint, and pulled her own into her hands.  Faye and Daemyn slept with their weapons in their hands, and Vicky envied them their ability to sleep with the awful atmosphere of the swamp close around them.

            She and Jesse watched the night draw over the swamp like a cloak, and the already-sinister trees took on new forms in the dancing shadows cast by their small fire. 

           

            It was the music that caught her attention; a wispy, haunting melody like that of a tiny flute or an ocarina.  It spoke to her of loss and loneliness, and a life taken before it had time to begin.  Sadness gripped her heart as she listened to it, bringing to mind all of the things she never had with Jonas – and could never have with him now that he was dead –

            _She saw herself in a beautiful white dress, walking down an aisle filled with all of her friends and family and all the people she loved as she made her way towards the front of the room where Jonas was waiting for her_

_She was heavily pregnant, glowing with pride and happiness as Jonas came into their shared rooms in the palace at Shu’marra, sweaty after training hard to keep himself in shape, but grinning happily at her as he put his hands on her stomach and felt the life growing within_

_Two children raced around her, a perfect blend of both she and Jonas’ best features, wonderful little things that filled the halls with ringing laughter and joyous shouts_

_They were old now, and their hair was grey and their faces were lined with age, but they still looked at one another and saw so many endless years of love and happiness and knew that when the end came they would be together in the Eternal Light and their love would spawn a legacy that lasted forever and_

“Vicky!”

            Her breath caught on a sob as someone yanked hard on her wrist, bringing her back to the present. 

            “No!” she shouted, and the grip pulled again, spinning her away from the edge of the path.  She fetched up against a solid body, warm and comforting, and she buried her face in it, not caring who it belonged to as she sobbed for the life she could have had.

            “Are you alright now?” the voice asked when her body-wracking sobs had died down to sniffles.  Vicky looked up, not sure who she was expecting – and was surprised to see Jesse standing there, both his arms wrapped around her body as he comforted her.  “I don’t know what you saw, but it wasn’t real,” he assured her gently.  She gave him a tremulous smile.

            “I know,” she whispered.  “That’s what was wrong.”

            His grip tightened in a brief hug, and he moved to pull away.  Vicky reacted without thought, throwing her arms around him in return.

            “Thank you, Jesse,” she murmured into his chest.  She hadn’t realised he was so much taller than she was; it was just that he had a tendency to slouch, and hunch his shoulders all the time, and he looked closer to her in height than Daemyn.  He paused for a moment, and then a hand came up and stroked the back of her hair.        

            “You’re the hero,” he said.  “If something happens to you, who’s going to save the rest of us?”

            It was the right thing to say.  She let him go, laughing in spite of herself and the horrible visions she’d endured.   They returned to the small camp, where Daemyn and Faye were awake and waiting for them.  Faye’s eyes were wide and hollow-looking.  Vicky looked sharply at her, wondering what had happened.

            “Are you alright?” she asked, and Faye nodded jerkily. 

            “Bad dreams,” she offered with a wan smile. 

            The sun was starting to creep through the trees, illuminating the swampy forest once again.  It was not significantly prettier in the dawn’s light. 

            “This seems like a good time to get moving,” Vicky informed her group, and they stamped out the fire, gathering up their meager belongings.  She was still tired, and emotionally drained by whatever she’d experienced in the night, but she refused to stop; not before they were out of the marsh, at least, and she could lay down on solid ground and not have to worry about spirits in the dark.

            They’d only made it a short distance towards their eventual destination when they were waylaid once again.  A horrible thundering roar echoed through the bog, but try as they might, the quartet couldn’t figure out where – or _what_ – it had come from.  Vicky was nervous, but they were determined to plow onwards, and get out of the swamp as soon as possible. It wasn’t much later that the roar came again.  Vicky looked to her left just as something large burst out of the water and roared again.  Faye’s scream pierced the otherwise calm morning.  Four blades leapt to three sets of hands before the water had even finished sheeting off the large creature. 

            “Nenyu!”

            Vicky was horrified.  The thing was at least eight feet tall, and had the lined, frowning face of an elderly man.  That and the general shape was the only thing remotely humanoid about it.  Massive, broad shoulders were topped by wicked looking curved spikes, and the head was surrounded by what looked like a prickly bush.  The body was brown and leathery, like the bark of a tree, and the torso was unnaturally skinny.  There was nothing normal about the sharply angled hip-bones and elbows, either, and the inhumanly long arms ended in four wickedly curved knife-like fingers. 

            The mouth opened so wide it looked physically impossible, and roared again, a final battle cry before one massive arm swung out like a ball from the pitcher’s hand.  Jesse caught it in the side, and was flung backwards as though he weighed no more than a ragdoll.  Faye flew to his side, and Vicky launched her attack. 

            Drawing her sword back, she let it swing with all the power she’d built up over the course of several months worth of training.  It lodged in the nenya’s arm, sticking fast as though she’d just lodged it into the trunk of a tree.  A quick jerk freed it, and a clear liquid rolled out of the wound in lieu of blood.  Horrified, Vicky decided that there was no way they’d be able to fight it.

            “Run!” she shouted.  Daemyn collected Jesse from where he’d fallen, and the two of them fled, Faye flitting through the trees above them.

            Another bellow shook the birds out of the trees, but it was enough to spur them on for that last sprint through the swamp.  It ended abruptly; one minute they were surrounded by densely packed trees, with water on all sides, and the next they were into the open air, a great vast plain stretching on before them.  In the distance, the Mir’naam city of Girvanni was clearly visible against the horizon. 

            “Welcome to Azerus,” Jesse intoned weakly.  Vicky realised he’d been hurt worse by the swipe than he’d originally let on.  She insisted that they move away from the swamp, and then pause to see to his wounds.

            “There’s no telling what sort of things you might have picked up in that nasty water,” She said, feeling motherly.  “The sooner we get it clean, the more of a chance you’ll have to live.”

            He blanched, but didn’t argue further.

 

            Vicky made an executive decision, and informed them that they were all going to be spending a couple days on the plains, doing nothing.  They’d brought enough food with them to last four people several days without supplementing it with fresh, and, she told them, she needed to get the miasma of the swamp out of her lungs or she’d never make it another step. 

            Three days passed by before they felt ready to take on Azerus.  Like Shu’ma, it was a broad region, dotted here and there with small Mir’naam settlements and towns.  The massive city at its center, Girvanni, was rumoured to be a dark, filthy place, built behind walls so thick that the stench rolled behind them like a fog.  Girvanni was where Dhiren was.  Girvanni was Vicky’s goal. 

            As evening fell on that third day, Vicky pressed to put a little more space between her group and the awful swamp.  At the top of a steep hill, she looked down and surveyed what appeared to have been a blood-bath.  Small fires were still burning here and there on the blackened plain, still covered with bodies.  Vicky sniffed, but the wind was blowing the wrong way.  Daemyn and Faye, whose senses were keener than hers, flinched in unison; they didn’t rely on the direction of the wind to tell them what had happened here.

            Jesse was white-faced.  “This was… the Mir’lian forces.  This is where they were coming, to make their stand against the Mir’naam.  All of them?”

            Vicky had a sudden premonition, and made a grab for him, but he was too quick for her, evading her reach and taking off down the hill at a dead run.  “Jesse, don’t be a damned fool!” she shouted, and started after him.  Faye and Daemyn took to the air, going in separate directions in order to cover as much ground as possible. 

            “Vicky! My – Galahan! And Mayra! Danica! They were all coming here! I’ve got to find them!” Jesse didn’t slow; he simply threw the words over his shoulder at her.  Vicky poured all her strength into her legs, knowing that if Danica were here on this bloody and burned out field she would never forgive herself. 

            She didn’t get the chance.  Faye dropped from the sky so quickly that she actually knocked Jesse off his feet.  The tiny woman knelt on his chest, shouting something at him, but Vicky couldn’t make it out until she got closer.

            “Mir’lian!” she heard as she approached.  Jesse’s eyes were wide and hopeful.  “I saw them, they’re there –” she pointed, and then lifted from the Mir’lian boy and went to collect Daemyn, who was still surveying the other side of the field.  Vicky hauled Jesse to his feet by his shirt, but he didn’t seem to care at that point; he simply sprinted in the direction Faye had indicated, fear for the lives of the Royal Family overwhelming any sense of physical limitations.  Vicky matched him pace for pace now that he didn’t have a head-start on her, though his longer legs ensured that he was one step ahead of her; they still reached the small encampment at the same time.  Jesse stopped so suddenly that Vicky barreled into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground at Galahan’s feet.

            “Father!” Jesse shouted, rolling out from beneath her and embracing the surprised Mir’lian king.  Vicky paused in the process of hauling herself out of the dirt to process that; she’d known he’d lied about his name – and now things were starting to fall into place, she recalled that she’d never actually seen the Mir’lian prince – he was always busy elsewhere – training with Jonas, she concluded – and never joined them for meals the way Ember had every night. 

            “Jesse! Oh, my son. Mayra! Come quick! The Lady has blessed us this day!”  Galahan embraced his son joyfully, and Vicky took advantage of his distraction to dust herself off and straighten her hair.  This was not the reunion she’d imagined with Galahan, especially since he – like all the others – believed her to be dead.  Mayra flung herself out of the tent, followed a split second later by Danica, and they all crowded around Jesse, welcoming their wayward prince back into the fold. 

            “Tell me everything,” Jesse was saying.  “What happened here?”

            Vicky was curious, too, but she heard the soft thumping of air that signified Daemyn’s approach.  Faye was with him, tucked into the crook of his arm like a child, but she flitted over to Vicky the moment his feet touched down. 

            “These are the king and queen?” Faye asked, excitement shining in her eyes.  “They survived? That’s so fantastic!  But why is Jesse hugging them like that?”

            The girl’s words brought everyone’s attention to the trio standing on the outskirts.  Jesse gave a smile that was nothing short of impish, and he gestured Vicky royally.

            “Father, this is Victoria Brightblade.  She made my journey here possible, when I would have foolishly set out on my own and likely gotten myself killed.”

            Galahan’s eyes filled with tears of happiness.  “Truly blessed day,” he murmured.  “Two of you returned to me at once.  And who are your companions?” he flicked a curious glance over Daemyn and Faye, taking in their wings, and turning his vibrant grey eyes on Vicky. She noted that he didn’t even bat an eye at her new name.

            “Galahan,” she said happily.  “These are Faye, from Ayalan, and Daemyn Swift of the Aliyans.”  He nodded respectfully to them, and they nodded back, Faye’s eyes positively sparkling.  To her surprise, Galahan turned from them and embraced her as fiercely as he had his son.

            “We feared you dead, Victoria,” he told her calmly, but his eyes still brimmed.  “Ember saw you fall, but when we went to retrieve the … ones we lost, you were not among their number.”

            “It’s a story,” Vicky said grimly.  “But not as important as yours.  What happened here? Where’s everyone else?”

            Danica stepped forward and hugged her just as tightly as Galahan had.  “This is it, Vicky,” she said, her voice sad.  “Us and a few meager scattered soldiers are all that made it.  We intended to ambush them, but it was turned upon us; they had many more troops in reserve than we were expecting and when we fell on the smaller group, the rest encircled us from behind.  It was Mayra’s quick thinking that got even this many of us out of it alive.”  Her expression darkened as she fingered her sword.  “And when I find the traitor who sold us out…”

            The threat dangled, needing no embellishment.  With her brother gone, Danica was the highest ranked captain in all of Shu’ma.  It was not a ranking awarded lightly.  Vicky didn’t feel the least bit sorry for whoever had betrayed them.

            Faye interrupted the solemn mood by floating over to Jesse and sticking her finger into the tip of his nose.  “You! You lied to us! Vicky said you were lying but I couldn’t figure out why, or about what.  What’s that mean, keeping the fact that you were the _prince_ to yourself?  You complete lunatic that’s not something that you should keep secret!”

            Jesse’s eyes crossed as he tried to think fast enough to field the Faerie woman’s questions, but she simply rose higher into the air, her voice gaining volume exponentially. 

            “First you start fighting with Vicky even though it’s _totally_ obvious which one of you was gonna lose, and then you lied to us about your name and okay, maybe you kinda made up for it in the swamp, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re the _prince!_ ”

            Jesse took the easy way out, and simply let his legs collapse out from under him, dropping to the ground and rolling away from Faye’s interrogation.  “You never asked?” he offered in his own defense, and Faye’s voice reached deafening decibels.

            “How were we supposed to know to ask?  That’s the problem with men - you don’t think - what could have possibly been going through your mind that you’d _lie_ about something so _important?!”_   

            Jesse suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere, and fled.  Galahan laughed, and Vicky felt truly relaxed for the first time in several weeks.  Hearing Galahan laugh over his children’s predicaments was a familiar, comfortable thing, and it brought back fond memories. 


	16. Chapter 16

Vicky surveyed the meager remnants of the once proud Mir’lian forces.  She’d been informed that it hadn’t been the _entire_ army; just a good portion of it.  They seemed to move around in a daze, not quite believing that their massed forces had been reduced to so few in number. Absently, she wondered if they could be retrained using the Aliyan techniques she’d been perfecting in her spare time. 

            With that in mind, she hopped up off the fallen tree she’d been sitting on, and drew her sword, intending to go through the exercises while she got her thoughts in order.  She was sick of being jerked around by the Mir’naam; they weren’t superior in anything, from numbers to skill.  If she could rouse the remaining Mir’lian troops to resume the fight, she would use the Mir’naam tactics against them; sneak in quietly and strike hard and fast, cut off the head of the snake – in this case, Dhiren Blackleaf – and the rest of the body would die quickly. 

            It didn’t take her long to realise she was being watched.  Sheathing her sword, she turned and gazed speculatively at Danica, who offered her a friendly smile. 

            “You’ve changed, Vicky,” she said quietly.  Vicky snorted.

            “I can fight,” she offered.  “That’s about it.”

            Danica stepped forward, looking her up and down.  “It’s not just your body, or the sword you use – or how you use it, though I wouldn’t mind picking up a few of those moves myself – it’s something deeper.  I can see it – here.”

            She waved her fingers across Vicky’s eyes, staring into them.  “You’ve grown.  You’re not a child any more.”

            “News flash,” Vicky said bluntly.  “I’m twenty three. I haven’t been a child for a very long time.”

            Danica sighed, searching for the words to get her thoughts across the way she meant them to be.  “When I first laid eyes on you, you were scared, weak, and pitiful looking.  And now -” She gave a wry grin.  “Now when I look at you, I see the woman who has been offered second-rank captaincy in the Mir’lian Royal Guard, if she so wishes it.”

            This took several long moments to sink in, and Vicky’s mouth dropped open, incredulous.  “Excuse me?”

            Danica nodded, pleased to have surprised her.  “On recommendation of his highness, Prince Jesse.  He was,” and here her grin turned knowing, “highly impressed with what he saw while you four were traveling together.” 

            Vicky mulled this over, shocked and pleasantly surprised.  “I have one thing that I need to do before I can accept,” she said.  “I’m going to eliminate the Mir’naam threat to Eversong.”

            She said it so casually that Danica did not, at first, pick up on her meaning.  “You can’t be serious,” she said.  “You’ve seen what they did to us here, you’ll be destroyed.”

            Vicky shook her head, and now it was her time to grin.  “I think a small enough force can be snuck in closely, and then all we need is for me to get into the city.  Once I’m inside, it won’t matter how many Mir’naam are out here-” she gestured disinterestedly, “-just that their women and children will be left defenseless inside.”

            Danica awarded her a horrified look.  “You’re not intending to slaughter innocents,” she breathed, and Vicky glowered.

            “Of course not!  Just that there won’t be much of a resistance force within the city walls; reaching Dhiren will be a simple matter from there; I’ve heard he never leaves his palace.”

            Danica nodded, finally seeing the sense in her plan.  “Alright.  I wish you the best of luck, Vicky,” she said warmly, and then leaned in.  “Jonas would have wanted it this way, Victoria Brightblade,” she murmured, and Vicky flushed with both pride and happiness.  “He would be – so _proud_ – to see the woman you have become.  I name you sister,” she added more formally.  “I name you sister, and welcome you to my family.”

            Vicky’s eyes filled with unexpected tears at the captain’s words.  Danica was gone before she could gather her scattered wits enough to say anything in return.

            As though they were waiting in line for their chance to talk to her, Daemyn and Faye appeared in the waning light, each with identical expressions of utmost seriousness on their faces.

            “Vicky,” Faye said, and then glanced a Daemyn.  “If you’re going to fight this Mir’naam king, you’re not going alone.  We’re going with you.”

            Vicky stared at them in horror.  “You’re not,” she said, dumbfounded. 

            “We are,” Daemyn said, placing a hand on her forearm.  His long fingers curled gently around her skin in a gesture of friendship.  “We are your friends, Vicky; you do not go to this fate alone.”

            “Yeah.  And you know what, know what else?” Faye’s excitement was contagious, Vicky realised.  “If you’ve got to go back up Shu’marra to get the rest of the warriors from up there anyway, we can stop by Ayalan on the way.  My mother and father would be more than willing to help out, and I know there are tons more who wouldn’t mind getting out of the city and _doing_ something for once, instead of just sitting around watching the grass grow.”

            Daemyn nodded his assent.  “My father will not be happy about the way we left, but he will understand given time.  More importantly, it is not my father who controls the scouts, and my mother is more reasonable than my father is.  She will understand the necessity for extra warriors, and my people too will contribute to the cause of negating the Mir’naam threat once and for all.”

            Vicky was overwhelmed with love for her friends, that they would be willing to go to such lengths to help her in her quest.  _Chubby little bookworm Victoria, first a soldier and friends with royalty, and now High Captain of the Royal Guard and the leader of a revolution.  Who would have ever guessed it?_

            Jesse was the next one to appear, and Faye flitted up to sit on his shoulder.  He wasn’t as broad as Daemyn, but she made up for it by holding onto his hair to keep from falling off when he moved.  He took this good naturedly, and stood before Vicky, an appraising look in his eyes.  “ _Quet bindu,_ Captain,” he said wryly. “As my people are already spoken for in your army, I can’t offer you anything really great.  But,” he cut her off as she was going to argue with him over it, holding up a hand to quell her statement.  “I offer myself.  I left the main army thinking that I could do more good on my own, and I ended up lost and alone, and utterly useless.” He dug a toe into the ground, sheepishly.  “And I won’t be able to fight with the forces when they gather; my parents would see to that.”

            “You’re the heir,” Vicky reminded him.  “As are you, Daemyn.  I can’t ask either of you to go with me in this.”

            “Vicky,” Daemyn said firmly.  “You are not asking us to go, and we are not asking permission.  We are going with you when you enter this Mir’naam city, and we will help you fight your way to its very core if we must.  We will go with you as your friends, and we will return with you – for you will not martyr yourself on this quest.”

            She was surprised by their allegiance, and by the insight they showed.  She wouldn’t have called herself a martyr, but she hadn’t planned on returning.  It was supposed to be simple; organise the people against the Mir’naam, free the landscape from the dark-skinned elves long tyranny, and then vanish into the wood works.  Perhaps it had crossed her mind that she would die in this attempt; by all accounts, Dhiren was no fool, though rumours abounded that he had gone mad in the years since his daughter’s death. 

            _Would that really be so terrible?_ She would be with Jonas again.  She still loved him, despite the time that had distanced her from his death.  Nothing would ever change that, she expected, but now that she was looking at the faces of these three people who had helped her, shown her what path to take, and stood by her while she trod it – she couldn’t imagine leaving them behind the way Jonas had left her. 

            _I’d miss them too much,_ she decided, and she was horrified to feel tears welling up in her eyes.  “Thank you,” she said quietly.  “Thank you.”

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

            They set off three days later, giving themselves a chance to rest after their long ordeal.  The Mir’lian who had survived the initial attack remained behind with Danica, although Galahan and Mayra decided to travel a little bit of the way with Vicky and her friends.

            They argued strongly against Jesse’s remaining with her, but he was adamant.

            “Jonas was my teacher,” he said.  Vicky heard him from her campfire – she, Daemyn, and Faye had one of their own, and Galahan and Mayra had set up something for themselves, to ‘afford the younger ones some privacy’ they said, and Jesse couldn’t seem to settle down at either one.  “I dishonour his memory by backing away from the woman he loved when she needs the help the most.”

            She didn’t know what to think of that.  She knew that Jesse was basically not much older than she was – he had lived much longer, of course, because that was the nature of Eversong and its inhabitants – but she tended to think of him as a younger brother, and he often did nothing to dispel that notion, acting impetuous and childish by turns.  That was why it came as a surprise when he showed his maturity in moments like these; he was no more a child than she was an elf. 

            Faye grinned at her across the fire, jerking her head in his direction.  She mouthed something, but Vicky’s lip-reading was passable at best, and the message was lost in the crackling flames.

            “I understand your devotion,” Galahan murmured softly, but not so quietly that Vicky couldn’t hear him.  “Victoria is a fine young woman.  It is a terrible tragedy that Jonas was so cruelly ripped from her in the moments their love was at its strongest.  But it is not up to you to fill his place.”

            “No one can ever replace Jonas,” Jesse retorted.  “I’m not trying to become his replacement.  I just want to do something on my own for once, that doesn’t include utterly destroying whatever I’m aiming to do.”

            Mayra said something then, but Vicky was tired of eavesdropping, and she tuned the rest of the conversation out, opting instead to stretch out on her bedroll and sleep.

           

            She woke the next morning with the sun on her face, and she smiled into its warmth, telling herself that no matter what tomorrow would bring, she’d always have today.  They passed by Ayalan, and Faye invited them all in to meet her family.  Galahan and Mayra accepted graciously, excited in their own way to be meeting their neighbors for the first time. 

            Faye had somehow managed to send word ahead, and her entire family was waiting by the gates for them to arrive.  Karevr’s delighted eyes fell immediately upon Daemyn, and the Faerie king took him by the elbow and ushered him into a nearby workshop.  Vicky overheard him saying something about a ‘marvelous new contraption he’d just designed, and would Daemyn care to give his input?’

            She grinned at the exchange, waving as Daemyn shot a helpless glance over his shoulder.  He’d somehow let it slip during their last visit that he liked to work with his hands – much of the furniture in his home had been crafted by himself – and Karevr, a fellow tinkerer, had adopted him immediately.  Shian was left to greet Mayra and Galahan, and she didn’t look put out over the imposition at all.  In fact, she looked delighted to have the Mir’lian monarchs visiting her city, and expressed a wish for them to visit again soon, after all the unpleasant business was taken care of. 

            Aren sidled up to Vicky while she was watching her small party disperse among the Faeries, content to be shown around the city.  “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” he asked hopefully.

            Vicky turned to him, and was suddenly reminded that she did indeed have responsibilities outside of simply slaying Dhiren.  _I’ll come back,_ she decided.  _My father’s done it before, I did it once, there’s got to be a way to come back._ Just as quickly, she made the decision to keep it to herself; she would cherish these memories forever, but there was always a chance something could go wrong – she could be trapped on Earth for the rest of her life.  She closed her eyes and brought to mind the picture the Faerie city had made on her last departure.  It sparkled still, golden in the sunlight, and she breathed deeply of air that smelled of flowers and sunshine.

            “I haven’t forgotten,” she assured him.  “When I get home, I’ll tell my father about you.” She paused, wondering if it would be safe to confide.  “I don’t know if I can come back once I go home,” she said after a long silence.  “But if it’s possible, I’ll bring him with me when I return.  I know that if he remembers you, he’ll be excited to return and see you again.”

            Another thought occurred to her, and she grinned in spite of herself.  _And think of the photographs he could take of this place._

            Between Faye, Galahan, and Mayra, they managed to explain to Shian what they were doing there, and what they would be asking of her people.  Shian accepted easily, and told them that they would find a whisper of Faeries to aide them when they returned south from gathering the Mir’lian and Aliyan warriors.

             Vicky went to rescue Daemyn from Karevr’s workshop, and found him elbow deep in some sort of machine, the likes of which Vicky’d never seen before.  He looked happy, despite his initial protests, and she almost felt bad for tearing him away from it. 

            When they set out again, they made a unanimous decision to try the Aliyan city next.  As Vicky and Faye would be the only ones able to accompany Daemyn into the sprawling tree-top city, the Mir’lian family stayed camped outside the borders of the Anki.

            Vicky felt a twinge of nostalgia as they drifted between the familiar trees.  They seemed to be sad, somehow, reaching out to her and reminding her of what had happened the last time she’d been here. 

            Daemyn dropped his two companions off in his house, and Vicky fixed them something to eat while he went and spoke to his mother.  He wasn’t gone very long, when he returned looking grim.

            “She will help,” he said.  “She was not happy with my apparent defection, but I believe I have explained my choices to her satisfaction.  I fear that convincing my father that I was truly in the right will prove more difficult.” He lapsed into silence, eating what Vicky put down in front of him.

            Finally, he roused himself again.  “They have offered to meet with the Faeries at the Asha river, where the two groups will await the arrival of the Mir’lian forces.”

            Vicky nodded her understanding, and something nagged at the back of her mind.  “Daemyn, before we continue to Shu’marra, I’d like to stop in Kahlen.  There’s something I need to do there, and we might be able to find more help.”

            She was more aware than ever that this was a fool’s errand.  It was not likely that these brave souls would return from this battle, and it was on her command that they marched.  They stayed the night in Daemyn’s house, Vicky and Faye sharing the bed in Vicky’s old room.

            The next day they started west to Kahlen, and none of them spoke, honouring the Aliyan tradition of mourning their losses in advance.  Faye found it strange; they’d explained it to her the night before, and she hadn’t quite understood.  It was good enough for Vicky, however, and she resolutely kept her silence until the sun dipped below the distant horizon.

 

            Kahlen was just as she remembered it; the streets were perhaps a little emptier than they had been, but not by much.  Many of the people didn’t seem to realise that a war was going on.  Vicky went straight to the bag vendor, intending to replace the one she’d bought nearly a year before.

            “Oh, hello you- you!” The man behind the booth looked much the same as he had the last time she’d seen him; this time, she allowed with some amusement, he seemed to be more surprised by her presence than she had been by the wares he was selling.

            “Yeah, me,” she said easily, and dug through her bag for the small satchel of coins Jonas had given her so long ago.  In Shu’marra, she’d had no need for them, nor any of the other places she’d visited since he’d tossed the small packet at her and expected her to know what was in it.  Her fingers closed on the leather, and she remembered her first, dizzying day in this wide town.  Having been among the Aliyans and the Faeries, much less Shu’marra, had dulled her reaction to the size, but the small bag brought back a tidal wave of memories. 

            “I’d like a new bag,” she said, gesturing to the one on her waist.  “This one has done me very well through everything I’ve asked of it, but it’s beginning to look a little bit worn.”

            He peered down at the bag, and then nodded.  “I remember selling that to you.  Snippy little thing,” he recalled, and she scowled in the face of his laughter. “Are you wanting one of the same size, then?”

            She considered this; anything bigger would hamper her movement, and anything smaller wouldn’t hold everything she’d asked of this one.  After a few minutes, she nodded.  “Yes, please,” she said, and dug out the coins.  He laid several choices in colour and design before her, and she chose one similar to the one she had already.  The salesman didn’t look too surprised by her choice, and he accepted her coins and handed the bag over.  She grinned at him in thanks, and took it back to Zindra’s, where she’d left the others.  She just didn’t think a six-foot tall man with wings and a four-foot Faerie would be too extraordinarily subtle in Kahlen, where the vast majority of the population were humans.

            Upon arriving at the inn, she waved to the innkeeper and Rowan, who were bussing tables in the dining room, and made her way up the stairs to where she’d left her friends.  Faye watched curiously as she emptied her old bag, looking thoroughly impressed by the amount of clothing, weapons, food, and assorted odds and ends she pulled out of the tiny purse, and then proceeded to fit into the new one. 

            After a few moments deliberation, she opted to keep the old bag; even if it was good for nothing else, it would be worth keeping for sentimental reasons.  She hadn’t been telling lies when she told the booth-keeper that that bag had seen her through quite a lot.  The trio opted to remain the rest of the day in Kahlen and get some much needed rest before they headed out to Shu’marra, which was not that far from the small human town.

 

            If she’d thought returning to Kahlen was bad, coming home to Shu’marra and knowing that Jonas was never going to step foot across the threshold again nearly sent her into hysterics.  She kept a lid on it by taking in all the changes her time away had wrought; there weren’t many, but they were noticeable and they kept her distracted while she made her way through Shu’mar. 

            All around her, people called greetings and welcomes and condolences, and she felt like a celebrity.  She didn’t know any of these people but her face was instantly recognizable to any number of them.  The illusion was so strong that she half expected the unwelcome paparazzi to spring from behind bushes and out of windows, trying to catch her sticking her tongue out or falling, or looking in the wrong direction, the way the paparazzi were infamous for doing on Earth. 

            It was almost a relief when no unwanted photographers leapt out at her, and she made it through the city without incident.

            With Daemyn on one side of her and Faye on the other, she paused at the gates to Shu’marra, remembering the last time she’d ridden through them.  Jonas had been at her side then, and they were racing off on a hopeless mission to rescue Princess Ember. 

            Now she was returning, a hero and captain, and he…

            _He was still gone._

            She clutched at Daemyn’s arm, and Faye looped a hand into her elbow, and together they steadied her across the entranceway.  Neither of them had to be told that this was going to be a bad reunion. 

            Help came from an unexpected quarter.  A fine horse was galloping towards them down the main row of Shu’marra’s inner bailey, its rider waving spastically with happiness.  Vicky drew herself up, withdrawing from Faye and Daemyn, and squinted into the sunlight, trying to figure out who it was. 

            Ember drew up short beside her, throwing herself into Vicky’s arms in an exuberant hug more at home among the Faeries than the reticent Mir’lian.

            “ _Vicky!_ ”

            “Ember?”

            The two women exchanged hugs and tearful greetings.  “The last time I saw you I thought you were dead! Jesse said you weren’t of course, and he even said he’d been traveling with you – did you really defeat him in a duel? – Oh, _Vicky,_ I missed you so much!”

            Before Vicky had a chance to answer any of the princess’s questions, the horse she’d been riding snorted and began sniffing around Vicky’s pack and pockets, looking for a treat.  Vicky’s eyes filled with tears again – happy ones this time – as she stroked her horse’s nose.  “This can’t be Tana, is it?” she asked, hardly daring to believe that Ember would have kept her horse with good care.

            “It certainly is,” Ember replied, grinning mischievously. “She’s really missed you, Vicky.  We all have.”  She wrapped her arms around the girl, hugging her again.  “I’m so sorry about Jonas,” Ember murmured, and Vicky squeezed her.

            “I’ll be alright,” she whispered back.  The two women shared a sad smile, and then Ember brightened again.

            “Oh, mice,” she said lightly. “We’re dawdling.  Daddy said we have to hurry back; he wants to get started as soon as you’re all ready.” She grinned, looking like she was ready to dawdle if they were up for it.  Any other time, Vicky would have taken her up on the offer of having a few free hours to herself, but she knew that the sooner she got moving, the sooner the battle would be over. 

 _Battle,_ she told herself.  _This isn’t going to be like the raids.  This is going to be a war._   Her only experience with war was the President’s War on Terrorism.  She closed her eyes, remembering watching the bombs falling on Baghdad, the explosions bright flickers of light against the darkness that surrounded the city.  This would be different, though, and she knew that too.  Modern warfare could be accomplished without either party ever seeing one another.  Bombs could be dropped, missiles could be launched, guns could be fired, all without ever seeing your enemy’s face.

                                    This coming battle would put her right in front of the people she was going to kill.  She would see their eyes as the life left their bodies, feel their blood cooling on her face and clothes where it splattered.  _As long as it accomplishes something,_ she told herself.  _As long as this is the end of the killing.  As long as there are no more Jonases, and no more me’s.  That’s all that matters any more._

That night, they set out on the march with the last five hundred of Shu’marra’s trained and battle-ready soldiers.


	18. Chapter 18

 

            The three armies met at the Asha river, between Kahlen and Anki’janaya.  In bits and pieces, they crossed silently, milling on the far shore and discussing strategy among themselves.  Vicky sat with Faye, Daemyn, and Jesse, wishing she knew what to say to them to make it easier to bear what they were walking into.  Instead, they all sat quietly and avoided one another’s eyes.  She flicked a glance over at the boat crossing next to hers; Tana noticed her attention and whickered softly, comfortingly. 

            _“A horse should be your friend and companion; not just a tool that you would use and discard like a piece of trash,”_ Danica had told her.  She hadn’t understood at the time, but now, looking at Tana’s soft brown eyes looking back at her, she thought she knew.  Tana was a war-horse; she knew what they were going into, and, in the way of animals, she also knew that Vicky was nervous.  She whuffled again, and then tucked her head down, one leg going slack in sleep.  The other two horses in the next boat were for Jesse and Daemyn; Faye had decided that she would either spend her time in the air, or if she absolutely had to ride, she was small enough to double up with one of the others.  No one had objected to this arrangement, and they were all acutely aware that one less horse was one less distraction, one less body they needed to keep track of in the mess they were walking into.

            The entire force was nearly across the river when the first attack came.  It was swift and silent, the allies first and only warning the howl of a skaal as the Mir’naam burst from the trees.  Vicky was too far away to do anything, but she knew that she wasn’t needed, as well; this was an _army._   The thought that she had brought them here, as swords rang out among the sharp yips and howls of skaal, sickened her.  _Some captain I make,_ she thought, scrubbing one hand across her face to battle down the nausea following the thought that whatever losses were taken today, in this first raid, would be on her head. 

            It lasted less than an hour.  When a shout of victory went up among the warriors, Vicky was on her feet in a flash, pushing through the crowds.  Tana trotted up beside her, and Vicky made short work of leaping into the saddle.  The soldiers saw her coming and got quickly out of the way, clearing a path for her to reach the fighters.

            Tana skidded to a halt beside the first Mir’naam body she encountered.  The ones who’d fought were standing around, letting the adrenaline fade from their bodies as they methodically cleaned the blood from their weapons.  Vicky’s heart dropped into her shoes as she saw the first loss on the allies side; a Faerie woman had died fending off two of the skaal; they were both dead beside her, but her throat was ripped open.  Danica pressed to her side, sweeping her into a hug.

            “We did good.  We have strong allies,” she said, meaning the Aliyans and Faerie people.  “Two people died.  Five more are superficially wounded, but they’ll be able to continue.”  Danica took her by the shoulders, and gazed into her eyes.  Vicky saw the captain’s face waver and blur as tears threatened to overwhelm her.  “Captain,” Danica said.  “Captain Brightblade.  You did good.  We’re going to win this, once and for all.  These are going to be the last people to die at the hands of the Mir’naam.  I promise.”

            Vicky sucked in a deep breath at her words, clearing the grief.  _I’ve already mourned them,_ she told herself.  _There’s no time for that now.  We’ve got to keep moving. An army of this size will take at least three or four days to get down to Azerus, and from there it’s at least another days worth of travel to Girvanni.  Hold it together, Vick.  Fall apart later._

            Calmly now, she wiped her eyes and nodded sharply at Danica.  “Thank you, Dani,” she said softly, and then moved past her, seeking out the Aliyan and Faerie equivalents of Captains to get their word on the brief battle.  She glanced over her shoulder, and saw Danica smiling in approval at her, and then stiffened her back, taking heart from the High Captain’s praise.  Tana trailed along behind her, nudging her with her nose whenever she thought Vicky might be getting too upset by all the blood that was still soaking into the ground. 

            _My horse is a bully,_ she thought wryly, but walked with a hand twisted in Tana’s mane, a silent show of thanks to the animal that carried her so faithfully before Jonas’ death. 

 

            It was exactly three days later that they entered the outskirts of Azerus.  It had no actual boundary-lines; the allies knew when they’d made the transition when the trees started thinning to empty plains of grass.  It could have been just another empty stretch between the forests, but the grass was dull and brown, and the soil under foot was red.  In the distance, Girvanni rose above the plain, solid and forbidding.  Vicky could make out the smaller homesteads and tiny villages scattered across the Azerian countryside, farther in from the borders between Shu’ma and this dead country. 

            Vicky led the allies into Azerus, and then wheeled on Tana, facing the large number of people she was leading into what she felt was certain death.  They were all mounted, some doubled up with Faeries in the same way Daemyn was with Faye.  A few of the Faerie folk lifted from their horses and partners and drifted over to her.

            “We will fly ahead and scout,” one of the men said.  “We will report back to you within the hour.” Vicky nodded, and watched them as the four scattered in different directions, flying quickly and steadily across the landscape. 

            “My allies,” Vicky called, pitching her voice to carry.  She stood up in the saddle, and looked out across the sea of faces.  “For fifty years the Mir’naam have been our enemies.  They have plagued us like flies, tearing apart families and bringing grief and destruction wherever they go. 

            “No more!  We will not allow them to roam through our homes and we will not allow them to rule our land! It ends here! Today we bring the fight to them.  Their reign of tyranny ends now!”

            A thunderous roar went up.  Vicky basked in it, refusing to wonder how many would walk away from this.  “Together!” she shouted, and Tana turned; as one, the army surged forward, racing towards the nerve center of their enemy. 

 

            The gallop slowed to a steady trot an hour later when the Fae scouts returned. “Captain.  The Mir’naam are gathering outside Girvanni; they await our arrival, but no more raiders are in our immediate area.”

            Vicky considered this.  “Thank you,” she said.  “We will ride another three hours, and break to give rest to the horses and eat.  Spread the word.” The Fae quartet nodded in unison, and spread out across the army, letting the rest of the allies know the most immediate plan.

            Jesse rode up close to her, grinning as she dug the heels of her palms into her eyes.  “And you tried to say you wouldn’t make a good captain,” he teased.  Vicky looked at him blankly.  “You’ve taken control of the army as if it’s something you’ve been training for your entire life.  I knew I was right when I suggested you.”

            Vicky scowled.  “I didn’t exactly plan on it,” she said, shaking a finger at him.  “I won’t forget that you’re the one who heaped this on top of me, and we already know I can kick your ass three ways from Sunday if I have to.”

             “You’ll have to catch me first,” he taunted back, and Vicky grinned.

            “I know where you sleep,” she threatened, and he quirked an eyebrow.  She smirked by way of an answer, and he laughed.

            Faye drifted over from Daemyn’s lap.  “It’s very good to see you laughing again, Vicky,” she said, settling into Vicky’s saddle backwards and lounging against Tana’s neck.  The horse flicked an ear back at her, but didn’t argue with the tiny woman’s weight.  “We were really beginning to get worried about you after you came out of the swamp.”

            “I’ve laughed since the swamp,” Vicky countered mildly, and Faye shook her head. 

            “Not like you mean it.  What did you see in there, anyway?” Jesse, the prat, had told the other two of the way he’d found her nearly about to step off the path and into the water, mindless with grief and futile rage.

            Vicky was silent for a few heartbeats, listening to Tana’s hooves beat out a count against the ground.  “Jonas,” she said at last.

            “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

            Vicky snorted. “I suppose I did,” she said.  “I never had anything for comparison.”  She smiled, fondly this time.  “I take that back,” she said.  “I did love him. I still love him.”

            Faye offered her a weak grin.  “I don’t know what love is, either,” she confided.  Vicky ruffled her feathery blond hair. 

            “You’ll find someone,” she promised.  “There’s someone out there for everyone.”

            Faye hugged her quickly, and then floated back to Daemyn’s lap, riding properly astride this time and leaning against him. Vicky considered them, and not for the first time, wondered what she’d done right to finally find friends like these.  She would die for them, she knew; anything at all that would keep them happy and alive.  The thought of returning to Virginia Beach sent a pang through her chest, and she didn’t know if going back would be worth losing them. 

            _I miss my family,_ she decided.  _I want them to know I’m alive.  But what do I really have waiting for me there? A job, a car, a city full of people I don’t care about._   There were possibly as many as a thousand warriors riding at her back.  Probably as many as a hundred thousand people living in Eversong.  It was – pure, and natural – undespoiled, and just empty enough that everyone had a place without being alone.  It was home now, just as much as Virginia was for all that she’d been here less time, and she found herself dreading the time she would have to leave. 

            Finally, the appointed rest time came, and she called a halt to the march.  They’d made good time; Girvanni was much closer on the horizon now, and they’d already passed several of the small clutches of homes that clung together against the chill wind of the plain.

            “This place – Azerus – it reminds me of the Phane,” Daemyn said as he came closer to her for the meal.  Tana was standing near the other two horses, gossiping quietly, and Vicky was building a fire as Jesse removed the saddles and bridles to give the animals a chance to rest.

            “What’s ‘the Phane’?” Vicky asked, trying to remember the geography of Eversong.  The name was familiar to her, although she couldn’t place it on the map she’d studied so hard in Shu’marra.  Daemyn settled next to her as the fire burned, chasing away the chill in the air.  To the south, a massive storm was gathering above Girvanni.  Vicky eyed it nervously as Daemyn spoke.

            “It is a very, very wide, vast plain with absolutely no trees,” he began, motioning the small prairie trees that twisted out of the ground around them sparingly.  “The wind is constant there; it is a very effective method of suicide for one of the Aliyans to get caught on the Phane; violent updrafts and tornadoes spring from nowhere.  Any one caught unprepared on the Phane can be flung from their course and tumbled through the air until the pressure takes your body apart, or slams you into the ground.  I have heard that actually walking through the Phane is not so dangerous as flying, but I would not want to try it, myself.”  He paused, and Vicky decided that he should be a teacher.  He never said very much unless he was explaining something; then it took a bit of work to get him to shut up.  Someone who loved imparting knowledge to that degree would certainly make a fine tutor.  She tilted her head and looked at him again, more interestedly.  He had a fine voice, one that didn’t wear on the nerves after listening to it, and he wasn’t unpleasant to look at. 

            “You would make a great teacher,” she told him matter-of-factly.  He blinked at her, and then shrugged the statement off, returning his thoughts to the Phane.

            “If you say so.  There are rumours in Anki’janaya that the Phane is home to a dragon,” he added.

            Vicky stared him down, trying to decide if he was being serious.  “A dragon.”

            “Yes.”

            “Big flying lizard, breathes fire dragon.”

            “Yes.”

            “You’re shitting me.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Hey kids, having fun?” Jesse lowered himself to the ground beside Vicky, looking back and forth between the two of them.  He offered Vicky a plate already filled with dried meat and fruit, and handed the saddle bag with provisions to Daemyn to serve himself. 

            Vicky absently thanked him for the food, and chewed through something that resembled an apple in taste and texture, but was violently orange and shaped like a banana.  She wondered what it would be called – a banorapple? – and then turned to Jesse.  “Are there dragons in Eversong?”

            He looked startled by the question.  “Well, sure,” he said easily, recovering his aplomb.  “There are legends passed down through my family about the Dragon Lord who went to war against the gods, and sent four of his greatest to guard the four corners of Eversong.  It’s just a legend, though; no one’s seen any dragons in Eversong for thousands of years.”

            Daemyn looked vindicated as Vicky tried to assimilate this new information. 

            “Puh,” she said finally. “A dragon.  Four of them.  Alright.”

            Jesse grinned, and filched a piece of fruit from her plate.  “I thought you knew,” he said easily between bites.  “It’s not really a secret.”

            “It never came up,” Vicky replied dryly.  Talk of dragons got them through the rest of the break period.

 


	19. Chapter 19

 

            They reached Girvanni’s outer wall as the sun was setting slowly beneath the distant horizon.  The Mir’naam were already waiting for them, ranged out before the city like another wall, endlessly thick and long.  Vicky had a brief moment of panic – there was no way they had any chance against a force like this, they were going be destroyed – and then she squashed it down inside, refusing to let it control her. 

            _Anger inside.  Just like he said.  Keep your heart hot and your head cool._

Thoughts of Jonas got her over the last of the terror that gripped her, and she found calm descending on her like a blanket.  She hid behind it, knowing that the coming conflict was going to be more serious than any she’d ever faced in her life.  Strategies and plans all flit through her head at the speed of light, one barely there and gone again before another was taking it’s place, vanishing just as rapidly.  She stood by what she’d said before; the main force of her army would need to meet the Mir’naam here, outside the city.  They could be crushed up against the walls and cut off from escaping – the only place they would go would be back into the city itself, and the allies would have a chance to follow them in, and infiltrate that way.  She discussed this plan with Daemyn, Faye and Jesse, who all agreed.  The three of them scattered to pass the plan onto the leaders of their respective races, and Vicky was left alone to contemplate the city.

            Nothing she had been told thus far could come close to the reality of Girvanni.  It was the antithesis of Shu’mar, as though the Mir’naam had taken their dark skin to heart and spread it into their lives.  Everything within eyeshot – which wasn’t much of the city itself, as the walls were fifteen feet high at the least – was black as pitch.  The walls, the buildings, even the road extending several feet out of the city’s gates was dark.  _Girvanni_ meant City of Night in the Mir’naam tongue she recalled, an apt summation, and then abruptly wondered what had happened to Maxtare, the kind man who’d taught her a few words in the Mir’naam language and helped her when she was taken prisoner. 

            Something that had been nagging at the back of Vicky’s mind suddenly became clear, and she glanced around herself quickly.  “You there,” she called, spotting one of the Faerie scouts she’d sent out earlier.  The woman turned to her, a serious expression on her face.

            “Yes captain?” she asked, and Vicky was momentarily started.  It passed, and she edged Tana closer to the Faerie.

            “I’d like you to take the other three from before and keep an eye on the back of the ranks.  I don’t trust the Mir’naam not to come in from behind, the way they did before.”

            The woman gave her a speculative look, and then nodded her approval.  “That is a fine plan,” she said.  “I will do it.  My name is Nifmosharejn; call that name and I will hear you if you need me.”

            Vicky quailed at the name.  “Um,” she said.  “Is ‘Nimo’ alright with you?”  The woman’s smile widened; she had apparently heard stories from Faye and Mia. To Vicky’s profound relief, she nodded.

            “Nimo will suffice,” she said, and buzzed into the air to collect the other three scouts.

            With that off her mind, Vicky found herself turning her mind back to the coming battle.  The Mir’naam soldiers were setting up for the night; she could see them making small cooking fires and gathering into small groups.  They clearly were expecting the Mir’lian forces to wait until day.  When Vicky saw how black the night was, especially with the still-growing storm, she could see the necessity.  A fight in this darkness would be suicide.  She sent the word around that they would sleep here for the night and wait until dawn for the fight to begin.  Sentries were posted, to prevent a breach of the unspoken rules by the Mir’naam, and Vicky promised them that they would be relieved halfway through the night, so that all would be rested come morning. 

            Everything she could think of to make her vast army more comfortable the night before the largest confrontation Eversong had seen for hundreds of years – Daemyn had unhelpfully supplied her with that tidbit while they were eating – had been done.  Swords had been sharpened, arrows were ready, armour was on, the horses were rested – everything was in place.          

            Vicky laid down between Daemyn and Jesse, who were already asleep.  She lay there for a long time, alternately thinking about the morning and trying not to think about what daylight would bring.

 

            She was up before the sun’s first rays peaked over the city.  The rest of the allies and their opposing army were also getting started.  Vicky found her palms were sweaty and cold, and that a massive chunk of ice had somehow taken up residence in her stomach overnight.  She ate methodically without really tasting anything she was putting in her mouth.  Jesse and the others looked as distant as she felt, and none of them had anything to say to one another. 

            Gradually, the sun climbed high enough into the sky to burn away the nights remaining chill, and the two armies began stirring.  The sound of leather creaking and subdued voices sounded abnormally loud to Vicky’s ears, especially in the absence of any normal animal sounds; there were no bugs or birds, or any of the usual things found on wide expanses of grassland.  Vicky found their lack disturbing, although she couldn’t have said precisely why that was. 

            She busied herself feeding Tana and brushing her coat out, checking her legs and hooves for any injuries or weak spots.  Tana was an incredible horse, and she’d pulled Vicky through quite a lot already.  Vicky wasn’t about to trust her fate to a faulty shoe, or anything else so mundane – if she was going to die, it was going to be on the end of a Mir’naam blade.  Since she had no intention of letting any Mir’naam live long enough to get the chance, she was confident as she saddled Tana, letting the chore of ensuring the tack was all in proper working order clear her mind of the more depressing thoughts.

            Nimo checked in with her as she was finishing her inspection of Tana, and informed her that the majority of the allies were ready as soon as Vicky gave the word. 

            Vicky sucked in a deep breath and adjusted her armour, making sure it didn’t wiggle or come loose.  She drew her sword, not wanting to waste time having it get caught in something during a moment of need, and climbed onto Tana’s back.  All around her, the allies were also mounting.  This time, the Faeries remained away from the horses; many of them took to the air, hovering in place and waiting for the command.  Jesse, Daemyn, and Faye gathered close to Vicky, reassuring her and comforting her by their very presence. 

            The allies ranged themselves behind the quartet, stretching as far as the Mir’naam army.  Above their heads, thunder rolled ominously through the black clouds.  Tana trotted out between the two armies, and Vicky lifted her sword.  Ahead of her, the Mir’naam captain did the same, and they stared one another down over the no-man’s-land between the two gathered armies. 

            She heard shouts from behind her, and a thunderous twanging as hundreds of bows were drawn and released.  On Danica’s command, Vicky had arranged the archers on the left and right flanks of the main force, with the majority of the short-ranged weapons condensed into the center.  A cloud of arrows sailed into the air, nearly blocking out what little sunlight was managing to reach through the burgeoning storm clouds.  Vicky watched their arcing path, following them with her eyes as they descended with deadly power into the Mir’naam ranks.  Before her eyes the opposing soldiers crumpled as arrows found their marks in faces and necks, sliding between weak spots in armour or plunging through the necks and flanks of the Mir’naam’s unprotected horses.  She flinched at the losses, and beneath her Tana danced nervously, tossing her head. 

            Another shouted order, and another wave of arrows rose into the sky.  This time the Mir’naam were ready for them, and had a return volley waiting.  The arrows met in the sky, passing through one another like two clouds of bees commingling and then separating, each going their own separate ways.  Idly, Vicky wondered if the arrows said hello as they went by, and then the projectiles found their marks in her people, and she heard the dull thuds of arrows meeting flesh, followed by the shouts and screams of pain. 

            _For Jonas,_ she thought, and then lifted her sword above her head.  “Now!”   Tana leapt forward, her long legs stretching into a gallop as she raced towards the Mir’naam. Behind her came the roar of hundreds of horses all throwing themselves forward, the deafening thunder of hundreds of voices lifted in a single battle cry.  Shadows zipped over her head, and she saw the Faeries, throwing themselves into the midst of the Mir’naam lines with daggers and short-swords drawn, swinging and zipping away before their foes had a chance to rally a counter-attack. 

            A shout came up from the Mir’naam lines and dozens of black shapes came streaking across the field towards them.  The snarls and howls identified them as skaal, and Vicky urged Tana to greater speeds.  The first of the Azerian hounds reached her, and she swung her sword down in a graceful arc that nearly severed it’s head from it’s body.  Another was coming towards her, and she swung again, spilling the thing’s guts onto the ground.  Tana plowed right through it, rearing up to strike at a third as dozens more raced right past them and collided with the allied line.  Vicky dared not look back for Jesse or Daemyn or Faye, much less the allies she knew were being bitten and slashed and torn by the skaal.  _When we defeat them,_ she decided, _the first thing I’m going to do is wipe those ugly mother-fuckers out._

            The skaal were behind her now, and she could feel the weight of thousands of eyes at her back, pressing her onwards like a wave.  The Mir’naam charge had begun mere seconds after the skaal were released, and now she bore down on them, bloodied sword flashing in the brief illumination of the jagged lightning that flickered overhead.

            The two lines of allies against Mir’naam crashed into one another, breaking and rolling around each other as they fused into one being of writhing bodies and hoarse shouts and the clanging of metal as sword met sword.  Vicky’s first strike was blocked, and she leaned forward over Tana’s withers to unbalance the Mir’naam in front of her, knocking his center of gravity away from his saddle.  Her sword through his middle did the rest of the job for her, and he tumbled backwards, a surprised expression frozen on his face.  Vicky swallowed bile and then turned to meet the next Mir’naam who got too close.

 

            By mid-afternoon Vicky had retreated from the front lines, giving over the position to someone fresher.  Sweat dripped into her eyes and she struggled to wipe it away while still retaining her hold on her sword.  She’d taken several small cuts and one semi-serious swipe down her leg; Daemyn had been directly behind her when she took it, and cut down the Mir’naam who’d wounded her.  Despite her protestations, he then proceeded to bandage the wound right then and there, telling her that she could do herself fatal harm if she lost too much blood at one time.

            Shoving pieces of fruit into her mouth, she scrubbed at Tana’s shoulder, wiping blood away and revealing a slender wound through the skin.  She offered Tana an apple to keep her occupied while she cleaned the wound and applied a healing salve given to her by one of the Aliyans standing by as a medic.

            Tana took it good-naturedly, standing totally still while Vicky tended her wounds.  The only movements she made were an occasional flick of her tail or twitch of her ears as Vicky talked to her, telling her that she was doing a fantastic job, and that they only needed to go to the front one more time that day. Vicky felt like she hadn’t done enough; there were dozens of bodies littering the ground, some wounded, some dying, some dead.  To Vicky, the number was absurdly large, considering the amount of people they’d started with.  _You are not the hero,_ she told herself.  _You cannot win this war single-handedly.  At least for Tana’s sake remember that they’re doing fine out there without you._

Nimo continued to bring her reports from all sides of the battle, and as though thoughts had summoned her, Vicky glanced up in time to see her alight on Tana’s back, crouching just behind the saddle.

            “Mir’naam losses are heavy,” she said brightly.  “They’re falling back.  We’ve got them slammed against the walls now; only a matter of time before they turn tail completely.  Are you ready to go?”

            Vicky completed her ministrations, and clambered back into the saddle.  Tana pranced a few steps to show that she was okay, really, and Vicky nodded to Nimo. “Ready now,” she said, pulling her sword to her hand.  Nimo lifted into the air, and directed her through the crowds to the thickest gathering of Mir’naam.  She met Jesse there, and he grinned at her through a mask of blood. 

            “How much of that’s yours?” she asked, and he shot her a puzzled glance.  She motioned her face, indicating his, and he reached up and wiped at it, then grinned wider.

            “None,” he said cheerfully.  “Caught one of them through the neck and he dragged me off my horse and bled all over me.  How are you holding up?”

            Vicky shrugged.  “I’m sick of blood,” she said honestly, and then the conversation was halted as another Mir’naam warrior thrust up between them, two swords swinging at the end of a chain.  Vicky pulled a dagger out of her boot, hefted it in her hand, and let it fly.  The small blade buried itself in the soldier’s neck, and he slumped over his horse’s neck, bleeding in rivers.  Vicky shoved up closer to him and retrieved the knife, wiping it off on his clothes before replacing it in her boot.  Jesse looked impressed, and then neither of them had time to see what the other was up to as the Mir’naam pressed closer.  

 

            The only thing that told Vicky that night was falling was the fact that it eventually grew too dark for her to see Tana’s ears.  The storm that had been threatening all day finally broke, adding a torrent of rain to mix with the blood and other, less definable things littering the battlefield.  A halt was called to the fighting, and both sides retreated to their own groups.  Tents went up all over the field before Girvanni, and Vicky suddenly wondered what the people inside the city thought of the sounds emanating from outside their walls.  As the de facto leader, she was determined that the only lives taken be those of the Mir’naam that opposed the allies; innocent women and children – and men who did not attack – would be spared.  Any who dared attack the allies were fair game.  Still, she knew what she would be thinking, huddling inside her house and listening to metal crashing against metal and the screams of dying horses and men mingling with the constant dull roaring of shouts. 

            She’d be terrified if she were in Girvanni tonight. 

            The horses were gathered near the tent, huddling together for warmth in the freezing downpour.  Jesse, Vicky, Daemyn and Faye were huddled under a relatively small tent; Daemyn’s wings took up the space of another full person, although Faye didn’t take up much space at all.

            The four friends were utterly silent in reminiscence of the day they’d just had.  Finally, Vicky could bear it no longer.

            “I have to know.  How’s everyone doing?  You guys all holding up?”

            Daemyn awarded her a grim smile for her impatience, and looked himself over.  “I am relatively unharmed,” he informed her.  “Mild injuries, nothing serious.  My horse took the worst of it, and I fear he will not live to see the morning.”

            To Vicky, horses were near sacred.  Daemyn’s news was almost as unwelcome as if he’d told her a friend had died.  “That’s terrible,” she said softly.  Daemyn hadn’t had nearly as long to get to know the horse he’d been riding as Vicky had Tana, and he shrugged negligently.

            “Such are the wages of war,” he told her simply, and she realised just how deeply he took his first-day mourning.  Important deaths would be mourned after the danger had passed; but as far as he was concerned, the loss of the horse had already been dealt with.  It was the first time she’d come close to actually disliking something that came out of his mouth, but she was also aware that it was coming on top of a very stressful day for them all. 

            “The wages of war,” she agreed sadly, and turned her eyes on Faye.  “What about you?”

            “I stayed out of the worst of it,” Faye admitted.  “I was mostly running messages back and forth between Danica and Ayleen.”

            Vicky was glad that her tiny friend had escaped the majority of the battle, and said so.  “Just be sure you’re careful of the arrows,” Vicky advised her.  “They’re still shooting.” 

            Faye nodded, promising to be careful, and then both girls turned their eyes over to Jesse, who had up until this point been silent. 

            He looked startled at the attention, and held his hands up defensively.  “Whatever it was, I didn’t do it.”

            Faye awarded him a tired smile.  “That’s what they all say,” she teased.  “But I know where you sleep.”

            “What _is_ it with that threat?” Jesse wondered aloud, and then shook it away.  “I’m fine.  I’m just tired.  Not even Jonas pushed me this much when we were training.”

            Vicky snickered at him.  “Softy,” she accused.  “Jonas pushed me twice as hard.  No wonder I beat you so easily.  How are you even still standing after today?”

            He rolled his eyes at her, apparently too tired to even fight back.  “I’m not standing,” he pointed out.  “That’s how.”

            “Palace life,” Faye said, joining in.  “You do nothing but lounge on cushions and eat grapes all day.  No wonder you’re so out of shape.” She gestured at his trim and muscular body.  “You’re going to get fat one of these days, and we’ll have to roll you out into the gardens to get you some sun so you don’t end up pasty white, like a ghost.”  She reached out suddenly and poked him in the stomach as she spoke.  He paled suddenly and caught his breath on a hiss, then tried to immediately pass it off as him being ticklish. Vicky knew better, however, and she demanded he lift his shirt.

            “Don’t be a complete dumbass,” she snapped at him.  “If you’re injured you should have said something.”

            “It’s not bad,” he told her mildly, lifting his tunic.  A jagged red slash cut its way across his torso, already scabbing over but still painful looking.  Vicky awarded him a look of pure disgust over the wound, and dug through her bag for the healing salve.  It was technically for horses, but the woman who’d given it to her had assured her that in small amounts it wouldn’t be harmful to any of the allies. 

            “Come here, you idiot,” she commanded, and he shifted closer, rolling his eyes at what he perceived to be her overreaction.  She met him halfway, taking a small rag out of her bag and dipping it in the water that was boiling over the tiny fire at the mouth of their tent in order to clean the blood away.  He hissed as she wiped at the slash, but she simply set her lips in a thin line and continued.  A tiny amount of salve went over the wound, and she bound it with strips of fabric she’d brought from Shu’marra to serve as bandages.   “Now go to sleep, and for god’s sake, keep your fool self alive tomorrow.” 

            Faye watched the interaction with interest, offering Vicky a wry smile when the woman turned to her questioningly.  “I’ve just never seen anyone handled so well.”

            Jesse protested as he was shifting onto his bed roll.  “She’s not handling me.” 

            Vicky snorted by way of a reply.  “He needs to be handled,” she asserted.  “Someone’s got to do it or I’m going to have to go talk to Galahan and tell him what happened to his son and heir.”  She glanced at Daemyn.  “That goes for you as well, Daemyn.  I do _not_ want to tell Eryx in case anything happens to you.  Make sure you keep yourself in one piece, please?”

            Daemyn nodded, flicking a glance at Jesse that spoke volumes.  “I will not allow myself to become injured,” he assured her.  “I have seen what becomes of those that do.”

            Jesse made a rude gesture at him, already half asleep, and Vicky reached over and smacked his leg, the only part of him within striking distance.

            “Bite me, Jesse,” she told him.  “You’re the one who didn’t let anyone know you’d been hit. If you had we could have avoided this altogether.”

            “It’s not serious,” he insisted, and then yawned.  Vicky stretched luxuriously and retreated to her own bedroll, gesturing to Daemyn and Faye. 

            “You guys should get some sleep too,” she said.  “We’ve still got another day of this ahead of us.”  Something told her that it wouldn’t last more than a week or two, and in the back of her mind, she was grateful for the insight.  Wars on Earth could and did last for decades; the last thing she wanted was to be fighting for so long.  But even as she thought that, she knew that this fight wouldn’t be able to hold out longer than a week.  Both sides had been decimating each other for nearly fifty years, and although there were children who grew up with enough hatred inside them to join the fight, there were still not enough soldiers to continue for too long before they simply wiped themselves out.  This would have to be decided, and quickly, or there wouldn’t be enough people left to put Eversong back together again.

            The unhappy thoughts racing through her mind kept her awake for another hour before she finally succumbed to exhaustion. 

 

            Waking up the next morning was the most difficult thing she’d done in a long time.  There wasn’t a single place on her body that didn’t hurt in some way; every muscle from her feet up screamed in agony at the abuse she’d put them through the day before, her stomach was roiling in a way that threatened to overwhelm her, her head was pounding - even things that had no business being sore throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

            Groaning, she hauled herself off the ground and shook her clothes out.  She’d changed out of the bloody things she’d been wearing yesterday before she went to bed, but it didn’t help erase the memory of blood sticking to her skin and hair.  She’d washed, too, while Daemyn and Jesse stood outside the tent to give the girls privacy to change, but she hadn’t been able to do anything about her hair.  Now it was a sticky, solid mass of dirt and dried blood; fingering it, she grimaced.  It was going to take a hundred years just to get the knots out after this.

            Daemyn was already awake when she finally turned her attention to the rest of her companions.  Faye was curled up at his side, her wings twitching every so often with the unidentified things her dreams were showing her; considering the battle yesterday and the things Vicky had seen and done, she didn’t have to guess that the small Fae woman was dreaming about the battle.  And today they had to go forth and do it again. 

            Daemyn scooped water out of the pot by the front of the tent, and poured it into a small cup.  The steaming water let off a pleasant scent, and Vicky realised he’d made tea of some sort.  “Drink this,” he offered as he handed her the cup, and one whiff told her that she’d been correct in her estimation.  “It’ll help,” he added softly, and a gentle smile turned his lips up at the corners.

            “Thanks,” she said earnestly, and sipped at the hot liquid.  Faye roused at the sound of their voices, and Daemyn served her with another cup.  The Faerie looked so child-like and forlorn as she sat there with her legs curled under her that it was all Vicky could do not to reach over and hug her. 

            “How are you feeling?”

            Faye looked at her, too-large eyes even bigger in the wake of what she’d seen the day before.  “I’ll live,” she said softly, glancing at Jesse.  Her normal enthusiasm was missing, and Vicky was suddenly overwhelmed with a devout wish that the state was only temporary.  “Think he’s going to make it?” Faye joked suddenly, referring to Jesse’s sleeping form, and Vicky let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding in. 

            She lifted her foot and jerked it in his direction. “If he doesn’t haul himself out of bed soon I’m going to do it for him,” she threatened, only half-seriously.  Jesse grumped at them from his pillow, the actual words distorted by the fabric he was pressing his face into, and Vicky laughed lightly, trying not to think about what faced them outside the tent.  “Are you still breathing under there?”

            He turned his face out of the pillow and glared balefully at her.  “Shut up,” he suggested, and she smiled sweetly.

            “Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s finally up.”  She drew the saddlebags up into her lap and dug through them.  “We need to eat. Any special requests?” Without waiting for a response, she pulled several small round loaves of bread out, as well as more pieces of fruit and small travel cakes that the Aliyans had provided.  She piled the fare on a plate, keeping a cake and one of what she had decided to call the banorapple before passing the platter around to the others.  They served themselves and broke their fast in silence.

            Finally they were just sitting around without meeting each other’s eyes.  Vicky looked at each of them in turn, and sucked in a deep breath.  “My plan is still to get inside the city and hunt down Dhiren,” she informed them.  “I don’t mind if you three want to stay with the rest of the army –”

            Daemyn cut her off with a stern look.  “Vicky, I have told you this before.  I will go with you.”  

            Faye added her two cents in a moment later. “There’s no way you’re going in there without me! You’d get totally lost!  Did you get hit on the head yesterday while you were fighting you dork? You can’t leave us behind! We’re all going. Right Jesse?”

            “Right. We’re all going,” he agreed, and Vicky sighed, looking bewildered.

            “But-”

            “All of us,” Jesse said again, and for a moment some of Galahan’s inner steel shone through his son’s eyes.  Vicky found herself outnumbered, but decided she didn’t really mind, after all.  She relaxed, then brought her finger up to point menacingly at each of them in turn. 

            “Fine,” she said.  “But you guys clear out if you get hurt.  This isn’t supposed to be a suicide mission.”

            Daemyn nodded his assent, and then his eyes shifted towards the flap that served as the tent’s door.  “The sun is rising,” he said.  “It is almost time.”

            Vicky gathered her scattered thoughts, and directed them towards the coming battle.  The allies had done a fabulous job the night before; they had taken fewer losses than their Mir’naam enemies, and done considerable damage to the opposing army.  Perhaps today would decide the tide of the war.  It seemed surreal, but she found herself hoping that it could be resolved so easily.  Even as the thought passed through her mind, she knew it wouldn’t be simple.

 

            Hours later found her at the head of the lines again.  She drove Tana forth into a crowd of the Mir’naam, and they scattered in terror as they got a good look at her.  Vicky didn’t know whether this was supposed to be a good thing or not. 

            The Mir’naam lines rallied once, surging forth like a wave rolling onto the beach, and Vicky’s people raced forwards to meet them.  She lifted her sword above her head and waved it in a circle, a call for a rally.

            “For Shu’marra!” she shouted.  The army behind her echoed it in a thunderous roar. 

            “For Janaya!” Daemyn bellowed beside her, his horse neck and neck with Tana.  The Aliyans repeated it, and the Mir’naam in front of them wavered, the lines of charging dark elves slowing down.

            “For Ayalan!” Above them, Faye zipped ahead of the lines as her words were picked up by the Faeries.

            “Azerus!” The Mir’naam shout was a challenge, but a weak one; as the two armies converged on one another, suddenly the Mir’naam lines shattered, the soldiers breaking and running for the walls of their city.  The gates swung open ponderously, and the Mir’naam warriors poured inside, fleeing to safety.  Vicky didn’t slow, and neither did the allies.  They flowed inside the gates on the Mir’naam army’s heels, the pounding of hundreds of hooves against stone roads reverberating off of walls and houses and echoing back at them in a wave of sound.  To Vicky, it sounded like the pounding heartbeat of the city, the two armies acting as the blood flowing through the veins that were streets. 

            Instead of a disorganized rabble, she had a highly trained force at her back.  Her decree that any who did not fight would not be killed was upheld; the allies simply raced through the streets, an impromptu escort to the castle at the center of the city – Vicky’s final destination. 

            She knew she would find Dhiren there.  By all accounts, he hadn’t stepped foot outside the walls of Girvanni in fifty years; ever since the death of his daughter.  It was the soldiers who left and ranged far afield, causing trouble for the rest of the peoples of Eversong at his behest, harrying them for revenge against the loss of their princess.

            Finally, the cloud of Mir’naam before her dissipated, and there was the castle.  Another wall sprung up around it, much like Shu’marra’s wall, but this one seemed to have been hastily and sloppily put together; it looked like a crack job, something someone had done in a very big hurry.  The gates swung open of their own accord, and a single Mir’naam warrior stood there, staring them down.  Vicky slowed her horse, hearing the allies breaking off and securing the city.  She trusted them to keep their word that no innocent blood would be shed during this battle.

            “You there!” she called in the Mir’naam tongue.  Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Jesse glance at her, a startled expression on his face.  She ignored him in favour of the man opposing them.  “Why do you block my way?”

            The words felt strange in her mouth; it had been a long time since she’d had any opportunity to practice the Mir’naam language with all it’s sharp consonants and harsh vowels.  He stepped forward, raising his arms to prove that he held no weapon.  As he came closer, Vicky felt fleeting recognition at the sight of his face, and swung down from Tana’s back.  He frowned, startled, and then dark eyes widened.

            “Veeky!” he shouted, and suddenly Vicky remembered where she’d seen him.

            “Max!” She threw herself at him, hugging him tightly in an embrace that startled everyone who witnessed it.  “You’re alive. I wondered.”

            “Veeky, I’m so glad to see you.” His English had improved, she noted, and they stepped back to study each other. “Dhiren has lost whatever wits Zeeki’s death left him with; he has threatened to burn down the city rather than let it fall into the hands of the Mir’lian people.  You must stop him.”

            “This is great,” came a new voice.  Vicky turned, and found a familiar pair of sea-green eyes staring at her.  There was an odd expression on the woman’s face, but Vicky was so overwhelmed that she had no time to work through what it meant.  “Do you remember me, Vicky?”

            “Neena,” Vicky replied cautiously.  Jesse did a double take on her, and then grinned.

            “Hey, cousin,” he said cheerfully.  Neena turned to him, and her smile twitched wider.

            “Prince Jesse,” she said by way of greeting him.  “You’re the last person I expected to see here.”  She flicked a cool glance in Vicky’s direction; Vicky didn’t notice it, as she was catching up with Max.  “And in the company of our Lady Hero, rescuer of the princess, slayer of Jonas.”

            That got everyone’s attention.  Vicky scowled, hiding her hurt behind the fierce expression.  “Excuse me?”  The last time she had seen this woman, they had fought furiously over Max.  _This is suspicious,_ Vicky decided. _Something’s up.  She hates the Mir’naam.  Why’s she here?_

             “Jonas was distracted by you when he was killed,” Neena pronounced.  “Had you not been there, he would have found Ember and returned in one piece.  I should have left you to the _pithniyara._   At least then Jonas would still be alive.”

            Vicky reeled under the woman’s vitriol.  “I had absolutely nothing to do with Jonas dying!” she defended herself.  “It was a complete accident!  I lov-”

            “Loved him?” Neena’s laughter was mocking.  “I loved him first,” she said, leaning in as though she were sharing a secret.  Jesse stood stone-still, shocked to his core at his cousin’s behavior.  

            “Neena, what’s wrong with you?”

            The Mir’lian woman turned on him, a vicious look on her face.  “I couldn’t stand her from the beginning.  I still can’t stand her. She’s so friendly with this Mir’naam, just like a filthy _malapin,_ and she tries to pretend that she hasn’t spent the last year of her life killing his kind like some sort of exterminator.  He’s a traitor, too.  I overheard him just before I found you all.  He’s going to betray that crazy king of his, but I know what he’s up to.” Her voice took on a manic edge.  “He’s going to pretend to let you into the castle, he’s going to say he’s your friend and then he’s going to betray you, just like all of them are betrayers!”

            “Vicky’s not a traitor,” Jesse rapped out furiously.  Neena’s smile took on scary proportions, and Vicky suddenly realised that the woman’s mind was not all in one piece.  _We’ve got to get out of here, we’re wasting time!_

            “Jesse, come on, let’s go.” Vicky said tightly, refusing to acknowledge Neena any further.  The four companions ignored her, and ducked around Max who stepped between them and Neena. 

            “Go, Veeky,” he said.  “I will hold her off for you.” He drew his sword and angled it towards the insane Mir’lian.  Neena laughed, throwing her head back and putting everything she had into it.

            “I’ll tell you a secret, Vicky!” she crowed.  “If this is the last thing I do I can die happily because _I started the war.”_

            Jesse froze in place, a stunned look in his eyes.  “You couldn’t have,” he said softly.  Vicky put a quelling hand on his shoulder, shaking her head at him.

            “Don’t listen to her,” she said. “She’s obviously lost her mind,”

            Neena was having none of it.  “That stupid bratty princess was only using Ember to get close to Jonas, you see,” she explained, as calmly as though this were a normal conversation about the weather over a cup of tea.  “She was only using friendship as an excuse!  But I wasn’t fooled, I saw through her filthy Mir’naam lies!  So naturally I came out here to get her when she decided she wanted to visit Ember.  I had to make sure she knew who Jonas belonged to.”

            Vicky had a sudden insight as to where this was leading. “You killed Zeeki,” she gasped out in horror.  Neena’s eyes were lit with a bright sheen of madness.  Her grin twisted, transforming her pretty face into something horrible.

            “She tried to poison me with her lies, the way she poisoned Ember.  I had to teach her who Jonas belonged to. I had to show her that she couldn’t have him!”

            Time suddenly went backwards for Vicky as Neena’s expression changed abruptly.  She looked down at herself in confusion, not quite understanding what had just happened.  The blood-red tip of Max’s sword protruded from her middle, and then the blood started falling.  It rapidly formed a puddle at her feet, and he planted a foot in her back, shoving her off of his blade.  She slumped to the ground, the mindless look frozen on her face even as she was dying. 

            “It wasn’t Jonas that Zeeki loved,” Max growled at her.  She stared up at him, incomprehension clear on her face.  The pool of blood spread, tingeing her hair to a dark strawberry blonde.  “It was me.”

            Faye and Vicky gasped in unison, piecing the past together in their minds.  Neena’s lips twitched, and then widened into a darkly twisted smile.  The blood on her lips made the expression a terrifying thing to behold.  As her breath fluttered out one last time, the psychotic light faded from her eyes.  Max looked up at Vicky, pain written into his features. 

            “This will not end the war, Veeky,” he said quietly.  “You must find Dhiren still.  He is within.  I cannot do more than open the doors for you.”

            “Oh, Max,” Vicky whispered.  She threw herself forward and flung her arms around his middle.  His free hand came up to her back, holding onto her.  “What an awful woman,” she said. 

            “At least now I know,” he returned.  “I can stop searching for her, I can mourn her properly.  We never gave up hope that she was alive, that we just needed to find her.  Dhiren most of all.”

            Vicky squeezed him, then let go.  “You have been a wonderful friend to me, Maxtare,” she told him.  “Thank you.”

            He accepted her words and bowed.  “Thank you, Veeky,” he offered quietly.  “You have taught me that there is still life left when love is lost.  I can ask no more.” He turned, and walked slowly, regally, through the gate and down the road the army had ridden up.  Vicky watched him go, wondering if she would ever see him again.  Jesse touched the back of her hand with two fingers.

            “Vicky, we’ve still got to find Dhiren,” he reminded her softly.  They turned one last hateful look on the woman who’d started all the trouble with her mad jealousy, and then the doors swung open as they moved as one into the black castle.


	20. Chapter 20

              The halls of Dhiren’s home were shrouded in darkness, the black walls unbroken by any sort of painting or tapestry or windows.  Faye brought out a Faerie torch from her bag, and used it to illuminate their way.  Vicky walked closer to her, looking at it in curiousity.  It kept her mind off of the revelations they’d had in the courtyard, which were stunning in and of themselves. 

            None of them spoke.  There wasn’t really anything to say, but Vicky found the silence oppressive.  She searched her mind for something innocuous to say, and couldn’t find a single thing.  Instead, she started talking about the castle.  “This is very Edgar Allen Poe, I think,” she offered with false gaiety.  “I can’t believe anyone could possibly live in such a barren home.  Maybe this is just his way of being unwelcoming, and keeping people out.  They take five steps into the hallway, and realise that they’ve made a horrible mistake.”

            Jesse grinned at her, appreciating what she was trying to do.  After a moment, he joined in.  “I don’t know what this Edgar Poe is, but that seems to be a pretty good theory.  It’s his way of keeping the unwanted guests away from the ball; they get in and find out that there’s no ball being held after all, because where are the decorations? – and then they decide to find somewhere else to go.”

            “Hey guys, hush for a second,” Faye waved her hand at them to be quiet, and listened.  Vicky sucked in her breath and held it, also listening, but didn’t hear anything.

            “It sounds like howling,” Daemyn noted, further frustrating her. 

            “I don’t hear anything,” Jesse said, and Vicky glanced at him, startled.  Faye drifted off Daemyn’s shoulder, and darted down the hallway.

            “It’s louder down this way,” she called, and the others broke into a jog to follow her. 

            The twisting, labyrinthine hallways soon had Vicky wondering if they weren’t just going in circles, but Faye and Daemyn insisted that the faint noises were getting louder in the direction they were going.  Soon even Jesse admitted that he could hear it, and Vicky was left frustrated by her inability.  She trusted the other three, however, and simply followed along when they abruptly decided that a change in direction was in order. 

            Gradually, the bare walls began to give way to carpeted rooms and vast spaces with the paintings that were missing from the front halls.  It was as though whoever lived here – presumably Dhiren and his wife Ixtli – had holed themselves up within the deepest center of the castle, unwilling to leave its sanctuary.  The four of them pushed open a door, and the howling was suddenly so loud that Vicky clapped a hand over her ears. The hinges creaked as it swung, revealing a massive room that might once have been a throne room.  Now, however, it was in shambles.  Broken furniture littered the ground, in splinters and chunks.  Visible here and there were splatters of blood, mostly old and dried up stains that would never come out of the bare stones again.  Hanging on the wall were the tattered remains of a map similar to the one that hung in Shu’marra; the only parts of it still in tact was a line leading up the Asha River – Vicky assumed that it was the road Zeeki had taken before she vanished.  _Before she was killed,_ she amended mentally, and stumbled over a stone that protruded above the rest of the floor as she realised that the woman responsible for all of this was dead now.  It had been quick; now, surveying the damage Zeeki’s death had wrought in her family, she wished that Max had drawn it out and made her suffer as much as the Blackleaf’s had suffered because of her actions.  Nothing could erase the last fifty years, but perhaps the knowledge that Zeeki had been avenged would do some good.

            The keening wail rose again, and drew Vicky’s attention to the center of the room.  The puddle of black that she’d originally mistaken for a heap of fabric from a tapestry or rug rocked slightly, and then rose to its feet.

            Her first look at Dhiren Blackleaf was something she’d never forget.  She’d seen vicious animals in the form of the skaal, and she’d seen madness in the form of Neena’s obsession with Jonas.  This was both of those and more.  Dhiren’s face was a twisted mask of pain and anger; the need to kill and cause suffering was written into every line of his body.  The sound he’d been making had reminded her of a wounded skaal; she’d been quietly horrified to find that it was coming from a person.  After that noise, she almost expected his entire language to be composed of howls and screams.  The words he spat at them venomously belied that notion, however.

            “So here you are at last, come to put the mad king out of his misery.  Are you the ones who took Zeeki from me? Have you come to make amends?”

            His voice was cultured, almost pleasant; a terrifying contrast to his surroundings and the expression on his face. Vicky found the words locking up in her throat, wondering what she could say to this man that would do some good.  _I came here to kill him,_ she thought, and her face paled.  _I can’t kill him.  He’s just grieving.  If I were to kill him now, it would be no better than if Aeryn had put a sword through my heart when she rescued me._

            “Ah, no, I recognise you.” He singled Vicky out with his yellow stare.  It had nothing of Jonas’ golden warmth to it; his eyes were the yellow of icy topaz.  They were utterly dead, emotionless chips of colour set into his dark face.  She felt as though that stare was reaching into her soul and digging her deepest secrets right out of her heart.  “The human woman, the vaunted hero.  Where were you when Zeeki was taken? Why did you rescue Ember, but not my Zeeki?” He advanced on her, his movements smooth and unrelenting.  Dimly, she was aware that Daemyn and Jesse had moved in front of her, that Faye hovered nervously above, but all she could see was Dhiren.  “Is it because I am nothing more than Mir’naam, and not worth your time except to kill?  I hear you are very good at it.  My men ran screaming from you in the battlefield.  They saw you coming and knew their death was near.  Do they deserve it?  Did you tell yourself you were doing the world a favour by ridding it of a plague?”

            Guilt flooded her.  _I have,_ she thought bleakly.  _I didn’t even think of them as people._ Something must have shown on her face, for his lips twisted into a horrific parody of a smile.

            “Did you think that we had all simply lost our minds one day?  Do you think it was any easier for me to tell my people, ‘Go to find her,’ knowing that I was sending them to their deaths?  Do you think it was easy for them to hear those words and know that they would forever be leaving behind their families, that they would never see their homes again?” He lifted his hands, spreading them wide in an innocent gesture of bewilderment.  “You have become the horror of my people, Victoria Crawford.  You are the face of all our nightmares.”

              Ice lodged in her throat.  She struggled to breathe around it, but it spread to her stomach and her limbs, freezing her where she stood.  She was utterly helpless to do anything but listen to him.  _He’s right,_ she thought, and he stepped closer.  Light flashed in her eyes, blinding her.  She blinked to clear the spots away, and realised that it had been the glow of Faye’s torch reflecting off of Jesse’s blade as he lifted it in a silent warning.  Dhiren politely stepped back, but his eyes never left Vicky’s.

            “All of your hopes,” he whispered.  “All of your ideals.  They are as shattered and twisted as mine.  My hopes died with my beautiful daughter, my Zeeki.” Grief twisted his words, tangibly emanating from him until it threatened to choke her.  “We are the same, Victoria.  You and I, we fight against the things we cannot change because we have nothing left to lose.  All that matters is revenge.”

            “no.”

            The word was so quiet that Vicky wasn’t sure where it had come from.  A moment later, she realised she had spoken it herself.  “No,” she said again, stronger.  “I don’t fight for revenge.  I had my revenge.  The man who killed Jonas is dead.  Jonas is gone.  He’s never coming back. I know that.  I’m always going to miss him, I’m always going to love him.  But he’s not my life.  I have things to live for.  My friends care about me, and I have to protect them.  That means that you’re wrong.  I’m nothing like you.  I have a reason to live.  And you’re destroying it.  That’s why I’m here.”

            Her sword leapt to her hand, and she dove for him, intending to end it right there where he stood.  She hadn’t anticipated him having a weapon of his own.  Her blade crashed heavily as he brought a black dagger to bear against her.  He should have been horribly outmatched, a long, powerful sword against the tiny dagger, but there was strength in his arms and he shoved her back.  Her boot came down on a piece of the floor that _squished_ under foot, and then the room vanished in a flash of white light.

           


	21. Chapter 21

Vicky dropped to a defensive crouch automatically, holding her sword up against anything he might try while she blinked the afterimages from her eyes.  “What the fuck was that,” she demanded softly, looking around for him.  He was fifteen feet away from her, mimicking her stance. 

            “Oh, no,” he cried mockingly.  “Where are we?  What happened?” He rose, and all traces of geniality were gone from his voice.  “You are in my world now, Victoria.  There will be no interference from the baggage.”  He gave a negligent wave of his hand to indicate her friends, and she growled low in her throat.

            “They’re not baggage,” she informed him frostily.  “They mean more to me than anyone.”

            His eyes flashed.  “Anyone,” he asked archly.  “Anyone at all?  What about Jonas?  Would you trade them for him?”  His fingers twitched, and suddenly Jonas was standing in front of her.  Her breath wrenched itself out of her lungs in a sob as she saw him, looking as vibrantly alive as he’d been before that fateful raid.  He smiled at her and reached out a hand.

            “Vicky?”

            “Jonas!”

            He vanished, and she stumbled as she reached for where he’d been.  Dhiren’s face was sad as he gazed at her. 

            “Would you trade the three in the other room, if I could return him to you?” he asked, and suddenly her wits returned to her.

            “I couldn’t,” she said.  “They don’t belong to me.”

            “If they did…” he pressed. 

            Vicky shook her head.  “You’re full of _shit!”_  

            He took a step backwards, thrown off by the profanity and the sheer force of the hate she’d pumped into those four words. 

            “You bastard!  Jonas is dead and nothing’s ever going to change that.  I don’t need him any more.  I need my friends.  You have nothing.  You’re pathetic.”

            Rage darkened his features as his eyebrows drew together above his nose.  “I have been many things,” he said softly, so softly she had to strain to hear him.  “Pathetic has _never_ been one of them.”

            Something flickered in his hand, and only sheer luck made her duck in time to dodge the fireball he launched at her.  Shocked, she stared over her shoulder as the flames licked at the threadbare carpet.  “What was that?”

            Dhiren’s smile was wicked.  “There are wizards in my family,” he told her.  “Certainly you’ve heard that before.  You carry an enchanted bag; certainly you’d wondered how it could possibly hold so much.”

            That’s what the shopkeeper had told her when he’d sold her the first one, that he’d been descended from the great wizards.  “That’s bullshit,” she gasped.  “People can’t do magic.  There’s no such thing as magic.”

            Dhiren laughed, a wild sound that careened off the walls.  “How little you understand!  You are simply a child.  The best of my best, they flee from you, when you are nothing to us.  You may as well be an ant, we could crush you so easily.”  He sobered abruptly, and jagged pieces of lightning flickered around his fingers.  “How long have you been here in Eversong, that you do not yet realise that everything around you is magical?”

            She’d known the words were stupid the moment they left her mouth.  She didn’t realise that they would be the catalyst that caused him to bring out his full power.  Drawing his hand back like a baseball pitcher, he flung the lightning shards at her.  They grew as they moved, and she couldn’t dodge them all.  One of them slid past her leg, tearing the material and leaving a dark burn on her skin.  She hissed in pain, and then cast about her for some hint as to how she was supposed to win this fight.

            There was nothing immediately useful, save a doorway that lead away from him.  At the moment, she didn’t particular care where it went; as long as she put some distance between the two of them.  Maybe she’d even find her friends again.  In an effort to distract him from what she was planning, she looked carefully to the other side.  When his gaze flicked over to see what she was looking at, she flung herself towards the doorway.  It led into a long hallway, and she ran down the full length of it, finding her way into the remains of a library.  Her heart clenched to see the books ripped up, pages torn out and shredded, and then she reminded herself firmly that she was in the middle of a life or death fight, the most serious thing she’d ever done in her life.  _No time to worry about the books now,_ she told herself. 

            Dhiren’s cheerful voice echoed from the walls.  “There is no where in my castle that you can hide where I cannot find you, Victoria!”  There was an awful sound, as though a large dog were sniffing loudly, and then the voice came again.  “Aha! You’re in the library! Smart girl, very good to get to the source of information.  Unfortunately, none of those books were useful to me in telling me how to restore my daughter to me, so I don’t think you’ll find much of interest in what’s left.”

            _Shit!_  She bolted from the library, not caring where she was going, and stumbled over the threshold to what looked like a tiny kitchen.  Another fireball singed the ends of her hair as she whirled around another corner, and Dhiren’s mocking laughter followed closely behind her.

            “This is what my people have been so terrified of, child?  Someone who won’t even stand and fight?  They are weaker than I thought; you seem to have done me a favour in eliminating them.  There is no place for weaklings in my ranks.”

            Vicky put her foot down and used her momentum to swing herself back at him.  “I’m not a child!” she shouted, her blade going straight for his throat as he bounded around the corner after her.  The crooked black knife reappeared, blocking her swing just inches from his skin. 

            “That’s what I wanted to see,” he murmured, and the fire dancing in his hands seemed to be ignited in his eyes.  She checked the movement of her sword, redirecting it towards his wrist.  Metal met skin, finally, and she felt the resistance of bones and tendons as it cut through his forearm.  He jerked backwards, and she yanked her sword free of his flesh, already turning to run again before he could draw together another fireball.

            He caught up to her in the next room, something devoid of any sort of furniture or trappings that rendered it indefinable.  He waggled his arm at her, blood pouring from the wound.  She felt sick to her stomach as he calmly reached up and finished her work for her, yanking the half-severed limb straight off of his own body.  When he chucked the still-bleeding hand at her, she was so shocked that she had no time to dodge it, and she screamed in disgust as it slapped wetly against her armour and fell to the floor.  She kicked it away from her, and fled the room through another door.

            Vicky was fully aware that her luck couldn’t hold out forever.  Even with one hand, he was still more powerful than she was.  And he had the added advantage of range, with a magical weapon she had no defenses against.  He was also in his home turf, a place he knew intimately, while she was just running blind.

            Almost as if in response to her thoughts, Dhiren banked down a small side hallway she’d missed, and came out in front of her.  She skidded to a halt so quickly that she almost left skid marks in the stones under her feet.  He’d somehow acquired a sword on his detour, and he swung it with deliberate malice now.

            “Since I cannot catch you with magic, and my Crwys is too small to do much against your Aliyan blade, we will have to do this the old fashioned way.”

            His smile could have frozen Satan’s black heart into a solid block of ice.  Vicky sucked in a breath, and held her sword defensively, waiting for him to make the first move. 

            He didn’t disappoint.  With a wordless snarl, he leapt forward and their blades clashed together with a deafening ring.  Metal scraped against metal, and she planted her foot against the wall to give herself some leverage to throw him off.  He didn’t go far; two steps backwards to regain his footing, and then he was coming at her again.  She pushed him down the hallway, though how much of that was intentional on his part she couldn’t tell. 

            She threw herself into a roll, sliding under his guard and taking a swipe at his legs.  It struck, sending droplets of blood into the air and across the floor in a streak of crimson.  It was a move she’d perfected after that day training with Jonas, when he’d utterly chewed her out for doing something so stupid.  It hadn’t ever failed her, but that was before she found herself fighting a man who knew his sword as well as he knew the back of his own hand.

            She grimaced at her own comparison; the back of his hand was now lying on the floor, some rooms away.  Before she could follow through with her own momentum and regain her feet, he was falling backwards, bringing his sword in from above.  She dodged to the side – it missed, but barely – and felt the scrape of metal against her skin, tearing it open.  Blood soaked her tunic and dripped onto the floor as she threw her weight into a back handspring.  The movement pulled at the new hole in her side, and her arm almost gave out beneath her as pain flashed its way into her brain, but he’d been taken off-guard by her sudden motion, and the flip took her out of his immediate range.

            They circled one another like two dogs, each one waiting for the other to break first.  Vicky considered and discarded plan after plan, deciding that she was going to win this on sheer luck.  It wasn’t the most comforting thought she’d ever had, and she shoved it forcefully out of her mind, trying to concentrate on the man in front of her.  Sweat dripped into her eyes, obscuring her vision, and she wasted precious seconds wiping her face with her sleeve.  The constant seepage of blood from her side was almost more of a distraction than the dull throbbing pain that came along with it. 

            “It has been a long time,” Dhiren said.  “A very long time since I have had a challenge such as this.  I will honour your name in songs when I have defeated you.”

            Vicky’s lips twisted into a cruel smirk.  “I won’t,” she said, and then they were on each other again, swords swinging so fast that she couldn’t keep track of it visually.  She was running on instinct now, letting her body follow the lines that he took as the cues for where she needed to be.  Several long gashes appeared on his arms, and he got in one good strike against her thigh.  She stumbled.

            It was the end of it. 

            Her fall took Dhiren off-guard, and his reach was too far over-stretched for him to bring his sword to bear on her before her blade found his throat.  The momentum of her stumble sent the long, curved sword straight through his body, coming to rest with the hilt touching his skin.  They stared at each other, her weight supported by his greater mass until finally the messages to his legs stopped getting through and he sank slowly backwards.

            His lips moved, but only a rasping gargle came from his throat.  Vicky pointed her sword into the ground as he fell, and used it to hold herself up as she balanced on one leg and pushed him down the length of the blade.  It left the metal gleaming with red, not a single bare inch remaining clear. 

            Vicky sucked in a harsh breath, adrenaline coursing through her system with nothing to vent on.  Her limbs began shaking, and she sank down beside his body, trying to come to terms with what had actually just happened.  The wide wooden doors to her left trembled under the blow of something massive, and Vicky reached over weakly and wrenched her sword from Dhiren’s throat, but her wrist wouldn’t support its weight in the aftermath of what she’d just done, and it sank to the floor.  The doors trembled again, and then burst open, one side flying totally away from it’s hinges and the other sagging against the wall as the metal twisted and broke under the force of it.

            Daemyn stood in the light streaming in through the wreckage, looking like an avenging angel.  His expression calmed as soon as he saw her looking at him, and he took in Dhiren’s handless body still leaking blood in a weakening fountain from the hole in his throat.  Jesse and Faye pushed past him, rushing to Vicky’s side.  They overwhelmed her with questions, but she ignored them in favour of smiling grimly at Daemyn.

            “It’s over,” she said. 

            A woman appeared in the door beside Daemyn, pitifully thin and garbed in rags.  She took one look at Dhiren’s body, and let out a shuddering sob, but Vicky couldn’t tell if it was relief or horror.  Jesse’s arms were around her, and Faye’s hands were on her face, and she leaned against the strong, unyielding muscle at her back.  “I’m so tired,” she told them.  Daemyn knelt beside Faye, and the two of them took stock of her injuries while Jesse supported her from behind.

            The woman sank to her knees beside Dhiren, and reached for him.  Her hands were trembling so bad that she nearly missed, but she managed to close his eyes.  Vicky wondered who she was, and the woman looked up at her.

            “Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking.  She cleared her throat and tried again.  “Thank you!  You have given my husband peace at last.  Thank you.”

            This was Ixtli, then.  Vicky nodded once, a simple up and down motion that set the world spinning around her.  Faye was digging in the little bag at her side, looking for the salve.  She brought it up with a triumphant shout, and began applying it to the most visible wounds. 

            It was Daemyn who started speaking next.  “This is Ixtli Blackleaf.  When you triggered the trap that sent you and Dhiren into the sealed portion of Darktree - we did not know what to do.  We thought we were never going to see you alive again.  Jesse decided we had to look for you, to help if we could.  We found Ixtli instead.  Dhiren had locked her in a room, and left her there.  She does not know how long it has been since she has seen anyone else, she said, but she got us through the seals on this part of the castle.  We found –”

            He grimaced, and looked at the bloody stump where Dhiren’s hand had been torn from his body.  Jesse picked up the narrative.

            “It gave us a place to start looking,” he told her.  “I was terrified that the next thing we found would be pieces of _you._ ”

            Vicky offered him a tired smile.  “Takes more than one crazy magician to take me out,” she said.  “I’m tough.”

            Faye looked surprised at this new information.  “Magician?” She glanced sideways at Ixtli, who was looking a little maddened herself, rocking back and forth on her heels with a peaceful smile on her face.  Ixtli noted the look, and then spared her husband a derisive glance.

            “Yes, there are wizards in his bloodline,” she admitted.  “It was always unusually strong in him; he had a control over the power that few see these days.”

            Vicky remembered the fireball coming at her face, and the lightning crackling through his fingers.  “I’m glad that it’s rare,” she said, and tipped her head back against Jesse’s shoulder.  “I’m exhausted.  Is there somewhere we can go so I can sleep?”

            Ixtli looked at her finally, seeming to see her for the first time.  “The castle is a useless wreck,” she offered.  “But the town is whole.  When we tell the people what you have done, they will welcome you.”   

            Vicky was startled out of the light doze she’d started slipping into, and shot the Mir’naam queen a surprised look.  “They what?”

            Ixtli smiled, and now it held no traces of insanity.  “You have rid us of a dangerous madman,” she said lightly.  “We all did as he ordered – all of us – because we had no other choice.  It was fight or die.  At least if the choice was to fight, there was a chance to live.”

            Vicky absorbed this in silence, while her companions exchanged bewildered glances.  Jesse’s hand was in her hair then, stroking it gently, and the motion took the last of the energy from her body. 

 


	22. Chapter 22

 

            She only vaguely recalled being carried from Darktree Castle, and the roaring of the crowds of people as the news was broken to them caused nothing more than the feeling that something important was going on.  She was too tired to think about it, however, and she simply let herself be carried wherever they would take her.  Two solid days of fighting had taken the last reserves of her strength, and she didn’t want anything more than a few more days of sleeping. 

            When at last she felt well enough to get up and move around, she found that the salve Faye had applied to her wounds had left nothing more than thin scars in her skin where the gashes had split her open.  In the private room she found herself in, she stripped herself of her clothing, and examined her body in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. 

            A stranger looked back at her.  Wide green eyes framed by sooty lashes were the only familiar things she found as she studied every detail of herself.  Her hair was longer than she’d ever seen anyone’s hair in her life, hanging down past her knees.  She twitched her head and watched the ends of it swish around her calves.  Her slender body was the biggest surprise; twenty odd years of looking into the mirror and hating what she saw made her think that this was a trick mirror, one that showed the viewer exactly what they wanted to see.  But she knew that that couldn’t be so, because if it was exactly what she wanted, then the smooth skin that covered her muscles would be flawless.

            The scars were there, however.  She let her fingers trail over them, feeling the memories rise as she touched each one.  The bite on her shoulder had healed, but it was bumpy and ugly looking.  Considering what bit her, she was surprised she even had a shoulder left, and she was content to ignore it.  There were angry red lines where the freshest wounds had been, and pale white scars the marked the less recent injuries.  She counted fifteen on her torso alone, old and new, as well as the wide slash down her back.  Her arms and legs had not escaped marking, either, and there were too many of these to count safely. 

            Her body spoke of the use and abuse she had put it through more clearly than any words she could think of, and yet she didn’t find any of it ugly.  She had earned those muscles that rippled gently beneath her skin, and she had earned the scars that spoke of how hard she had fought for what she believed in, for something she’d cared about more than her own life.  Her body was a reflection of her struggle, and her victory. 

             On a whim, she upended her small bag, spilling it’s contents across the wide, soft bed she’d been sleeping in.  Dirty, muddy clothes mingled with the spare bits of food and weapons she’d tucked in there.  Something sparkled among the grime, and she reached for it.

            A gentle tug, and then a firmer one because it was caught in something, and she found the key that had been embedded in the cover of the book that brought her here.  It also revealed the jeans she’d been wearing upon her arrival.  The threaded fabric looked strange after so many long months of wearing the tunics and trousers that seemed to permeate all of Eversong, and she stroked the material gently, letting it remind her of her home.  The memories were dim; had she ever lived anywhere but here in Eversong?  Yes, she must have, because there was no such thing as jeans or cotton here, and now she even recalled getting them on sale at Target.  She dug through the pile of clothes, and drew out her under garments and tee shirt, holding the clothes up to her body.  They would never fit her now, they were much too big, and she discarded them in favour of drawing the shirt over her head.  The jeans came next, and even they were too big, but her belt went through the loops easily and she cinched it tight until she was sure they wouldn’t fall when she straightened.  She even found her scrunchie in the pocket, and she tied her hair back with it, drawing it up into a pony tail so that its length was hidden by her body. 

            Returning to the mirror, someone more familiar looked back out at her.  The shirt was baggy now, and she read the words printed across it wryly. _I intend to live forever.  So far, so good._

            “Indeed,” she said, laughing at herself, and grabbed at the hem, intending to change into her more familiar clothes.  The jeans chafed uncomfortably, and the shirt rubbed against still-healing skin.  She’d lifted it half-off when there came a knock at the door, and she grinned mischievously.  It was bound to be one of her friends; this would be a cute surprise.

            She opened the door, and sure enough Jesse was standing there.  He looked down at her, and then his eyes flicked into the room behind her.  Then he blinked rapidly, and looked again.  “ _Vicky?_ ”

            “Who else?” She stepped back into the room, inviting him inside.  “What’s up?”

            He followed her, eyeing the lines of the jeans and the fabric of the shirt.  “Where did you get those?” he wanted to know, his original business forgotten for the moment.  Vicky teased him, lifting the shirt up a little to show off the jeans.  His eyes widened, and her grin widened.  If loose-fitting, baggy jeans put that look on his face, she wondered what expression he’d make if he saw her in tight jeans.  _His eyes would bug out,_ she decided, and laughed to herself.  _Jonas would demand that I change my clothes because I was indecent._   _But Jesse’s so wired over these, he probably wouldn’t know what to do._

“They’re what I wore at home,” she explained laughingly, and took a few steps.  Jesse’s eyes followed every movement she made, watching the strange clothes fold and ripple as she walked.  “They don’t fit any more,” she told him. “I’ll have to get more … later.”

            She hadn’t told anyone she was going home.  She wanted to stay, she knew they wanted her to stay, but she had to see her parents, had to explain, had to get an explanation out of her father.  She didn’t fool Jesse, however, and his gaze flicked back up to her face.

            “You’re going, then?” he asked, and she told herself that he didn’t sound all that upset.  She was lying, and she knew it.    

            “I’ve got to.  But my father came here when he was a child, and I’ve come here once – I’ll come back.  There’s got to be a way.”  She tugged on the hem of the shirt, twisting her fingers into it as she fidgeted nervously.  He cleared his throat.

            “We’ll… talk about it later,” he decided.  “Ixtli wants to talk to you, and there’s a lot of Mir’naam who want to see you.”

            Her face paled, and he shook his head.  “No, its okay,” he told her. “They want to thank you.  No one holds a grudge, I promise.  We’ve been talking to them for days now, trying to figure out what to do now.  You’re still the captain.”

            Vicky busied herself holding up her clothes, looking for the ones with the least amount of dirt on them, and Jesse crossed the room in two strides, putting a hand down on her shoulder.  She glanced at him, and his eyes twinkled with mischief.

            “Go like you are,” he suggested.  “I want to see Daemyn’s face.”

            “You should have seen _your_ face,” she retorted, but dropped the filthy tunic she’d been holding.  The key glittered at her in the sunlight pouring through the window, and she picked it up.  Jesse held his hand out for it, and she handed it over, watching him as he examined it.

            “This is the key to the Eimerli?” he asked, and she nodded. 

            “Hold onto it for me, would you?” she asked.  “I need to make sure it gets back to Galahan, and I’ve got nowhere to put it.  I might forget it if it’s in my bag.”

            He pulled a leather thong out of his shirt, and undid the knot.  A small pendant hung on it, and he added the key before tying it up and sliding it under his tunic again.  “Royal insignia,” he explained.  “Ember’s got one, too.”

            She nodded, then reached up and tugged on her ponytail nervously.  “What am I going to say to them?” she wanted to know.  “They were the enemy up until… and I’ve made so many widows and orphans out of them.”

            Jesse replaced his hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.  “Trust me,” he said.  “It’ll be alright.  I  promise.”

 

            Faye shrieked when she saw Vicky, the earsplitting noise alerting Daemyn and Ixtli to their presence.  Jesse stood just behind her, holding onto her hair like a leash.  When she stopped in the doorway, staring at Ixtli while Faye hollered incoherently about her clothes, he gave it a tug.  She turned a dark look on him, and he dropped it.  She could feel it’s weight through her jeans as it swung back and forth, and then Faye was in her face.

            “Vicky what are you wearing where did you get those things that’s so cool you look so different how did you get the shirt to say that what’s it mean anyway –Oh yeah, here’s Ixtli and Daemyn, Omygod, Daemyn, look at her doesn’t she look so cool?”

            Vicky took a step back, overwhelmed by the Faerie woman’s excitation, and heard a muffled grunt from behind her as she accidentally stepped on Jesse’s foot.  He put a hand against her back and shoved none too gently.  She stumbled into the room, and Daemyn rose from his seat.

            “You do look very different,” he noted, and she only saw the surprise in his impassable features because she was looking for it.  Somehow that made it better, and she grinned, relaxing.  “These are the clothes where you come from?”

            Ixtli stood while he was speaking, and she gave Vicky a chance to agree to Daemyn’s assumption before she spoke.  Clean, and dressed in proper clothes, Ixtli was a beautiful woman.  Her dark eyes sparkled as she gave Vicky a warm smile. 

            “It seems that what they say about you is true,” she said.  “You are a most unusual woman, Victoria.  We of Girvanni – of all Eversong – owe you our lives.” She reached out with both hands, taking Vicky’s in hers and shook it gently.  “Your presence here has been a blessing in disguise.  This endless war of my husband’s would have gone on forever if not for your bravery.  Please, accept my apologies on his behalf, and let us part here as allies.  For I, Ixtli Blackleaf, hereby swear my allegiance and the allegiance of my people, the Mir’naam, to the beneficent rule of Galahan Flamestar of Shu’marra.”     

            She sank to her knees, still holding onto Vicky’s hands, and bowed her head.  Vicky felt hot and cold by turns, and only Jesse’s tug on her ponytail kept her from stuttering something silly in return to Ixtli’s words.

            “Your allegiance is accepted and welcome,” Jesse said formally from behind her.  “Having sworn to Victoria Brightblade and myself, Jesse Flamestar of Shu’marra, we welcome you to our kingdom, Ixtli.  May ours be a long and prosperous alliance.”

            “Long and prosperous,” Ixtli repeated and got her feet under her again.  Vicky looked into her face and saw tears shining in her eyes.  The war was over.

*

            The Aliyans and Faeries preceded the Mir’lian warriors from the city, returning to their homes with news of a nationwide era peace.  If they embellished their stories a little when they told of the fight between Vicky and Dhiren, well, no one was going to call them out on it.  Already, legends were circulating of Vicky’s prowess in battle, the way she had ridden at the forefront of the armies in the war and gathered together the three isolated nations together in a battle for peace. 

            Vicky heard the whispers as she rode out of Girvanni at the head of the Mir’lian army, and blanched.  Daemyn, on her left with Faye in his lap, saw the expression, and grinned boyishly. 

            “You were already a hero, Vicky,” he told her.  “Now you are the saviour of our world, and you expect them not to talk about you?” He snorted gently, ruffling Faye’s feathery hair, and shook his head.  “I expect to find tales that you are ten feet tall and wield a flaming sword when I return to Anki’janaya.”

            Vicky quailed. “Oh dear.”

            “At least fifteen feet high,” Faye amended.  “You forget how tiny we Faeries are.  And the sword doesn’t just flame, it was forged in the fires of Kinut’s sun.”

            Vicky reached over to smack her friend on the arm.  “You’re not helping!” she said tensely, afraid that they really _would_ start telling tales like that about her. 

            Jesse laughed.  “Should we give Tana wings, then?” Tana flicked an ear at him at the sound of her name.  “Surely someone who wears Kinut’s sword deserves at least that much.”

            “Jesse!”

            The three of them laughed at her, and she squeezed her legs around Tana’s barrel, holding on tightly as the horse started forward at a canter to get herself away from them and their hopeless teasing.  Her back was stiff as she rode, and she found a sad smile tugging at her lips.  There was something in the back of her mind that told her she was never going to see them again, despite her strong words about her family making it here throughout several generations. 

            They rode the rest of the day, making better time away from the city with light hearts and a smaller group.  Of the five hundred Mir’lian who’d come with her, scarcely more than a hundred were left.  The fighting had been brutal, and had continued into the streets of Girvanni once the defending Mir’naam realised that Vicky was no longer among their number.  The loss of so many lives twisted at her heart, and only the knowledge that no one else would die kept her from breaking down entirely. 

            They made camp on the bank of the Asha River several hours before sundown, and the general mood among the warriors was light-hearted.  The _fion_ , a special wine reserved for state occasions, was passed around freely, and as the sun went down there was much rejoicing and singing in the ranks.  

            Vicky wasn’t immune to the general good humor, and she drank as heavily as anyone else.  Daemyn and Faye were just as liberal with their drinking, and Vicky was laughing joyfully at their drunken antics as Daemyn tried to explain the nuances of an Aliyan game to an utterly incomprehensive Faye.  The Faerie woman refused to back down from his challenge, however, no matter how badly she lost each time, and it wasn’t long before all four of them were simply laughing for the joy of it.

            The sun was long set when the partying began to die down, the intoxicated participants giving into the call of sleep.  Soon there were just a few fires left as those who were still conscious left off dancing and singing for simply sitting with one another and exchanging stories about the recent battle, quietly mourning their losses even as they celebrated the newfound peace. 

            Vicky sat between Daemyn and Jesse, Faye having long since dropped into a drunken sleep nestled in Daemyn’s lap.  The Aliyan man sighed down at her every so often, but made no effort to move her to her bedroll.  Vicky basked in the warmth of the fire and the joy of companionship. 

            “What’s going to happen now?” Jesse asked finally, breaking the silence between them.  Vicky glanced over at him, taking in his tousled hair that turned golden in the fire’s glow and grey eyes that reflected the dancing flames like mirrors. 

            “Rebuilding,” Vicky said at length.  “This war was long, and hard, and people have to get used to the fact that it’s over.” _It’s over._   The thought was terrifyingly wonderful, and she let her gaze linger on the fire as she reflected on the events of the past year.

            _Had it really been only a year?_

            So much had happened to her that it was almost impossible for her to grasp it all at once.  She was a war hero, and a widow, a soldier and leader.  She was so far removed from the person she had been that even as she recalled her past life, it felt like watching a movie about the life of a stranger. 

            _When I came here, I was so confused,_ she thought. _All I wanted was to wake up and go home, and now … Now I don’t want to leave._

_Do I have to?_

            The thought startled her, and she jerked slightly where she’d been leaning on Jesse unintentionally.  He glanced at her curiously, then put an arm around her shoulders.

            “You don’t have to go,” he told her, almost as if he’d read her thoughts.  “There’s a home for you in Shu’marra.”

            She stared up at him, and nodded.  “I know that.”  She pulled away, and stood up.  “I’m going for a walk,” she announced quietly, and then disappeared into the shadows surrounding their small campfire. 

            _This place looks familiar,_ she thought as she took in her surroundings.  The muted light of the fires behind her gave her enough to see by, but it almost wasn’t enough as she nearly tripped over a large body. 

            Muffling a shriek, she went for a sword she didn’t have before she realised that whatever she’d stumbled over was already dead.  Taking a closer look, she realised it was a skaal, and the arrow protruding chest brought the memories wrenchingly back to the forefront of her mind.  _This is where Jonas killed it,_ she realised.  _This is the skaal he rescued me from._   It was mostly bones now, with just a few scraps of skin and fur clinging obstinately to the skeleton, but in her mind she could see it for the first time, the menace in its eyes even as it died, the overwhelming horror she felt as she realised how close she’d come to dying for the first time in her life. 

            With a startled gasp, she realised that this was the same narrower section of the river that she’d entered Eversong through.  Leaping over the skaal’s remains, she took off at a dead run the second her feet touched the ground, trying to remember that first mad flight through the forest.  Dodging branches and bounding over the exposed roots was habitual now, but in her mind she could feel the skaal’s breath on her back, the twigs tearing at her face and hair as she stumbled over the roots, not daring to look behind her but aware of the death that followed quickly on her heels.

            She didn’t know what made her stop.  None of the forest looked familiar in the dark, and there was nothing to tell her that this was where she’d entered from, but she felt it in her soul.  Kneeling at the bank of the river, she looked in and gasped.

            There was a city reflected in the water.  The lights of the huge hotel in Town Center were illuminated, a shining beacon into the night.  A noise behind her grabbed her attention away from the reflected Virginia Beach, and she glanced over her shoulder.  Jesse melted out of the trees, looking unhappy.

            “Are you alright?” he asked, and she nodded mutely, pointing to the water.

            “This is where I –”

            And whatever she was about to say next was lost in a shriek as the earth beneath her suddenly gave way, dumping her into the fast-moving water.  It swirled above her head, and she clawed her way to the surface, swimming furiously against the current that threatened to drag her down. 

            Her lungs were burning, screaming at her for air, but no matter how she struggled she couldn’t reach the surface.  Black spots danced in front of her eyes, small at first and then they grew larger until darkness overwhelmed her and she gave into the need to breathe in.  Water poured into her lungs, and she choked on the brine.

 


	23. Chapter 23

            “She’s waking up.”

            Vicky heard sobbing following this pronouncement, and struggled to think of who it could be.  Her brain seemed to have malfunctioned, and she wondered vaguely if she’d suffered some sort of mental trauma from lack of oxygen after nearly drowning. 

            Opening her eyes was a struggle, and when she managed it, she closed them again immediately as she was assaulted by an overwhelmingly bright white light.

            “Faye?” she heard herself mumble, the Faerie woman’s name coming back to her abruptly.  Jesse Daemyn Jonas Danica Galahan Ixtli Tana – they flew through her mind as her mind suddenly caught up to itself, and memories reasserted themselves.  It must be midday, at least, judging by the horrible, offensive light that was still beating down on her abused eyelids. 

            There wasn’t a single part of her that didn’t feel sore, and she groaned as she took stock of herself.  She must have been tossed against the rocks, to hurt this badly, but nothing felt broken.  She twitched her fingers and toes, making sure they still worked without having to do anything as strenuous as get her eyes open again.  The sobbing still hadn’t abated, but now it was accompanied by an oddly mechanical sound.

            It was regular, and it’s frequency was getting on her nerves.  “Faye, shut up,” she said irritably, and opened her eyes a fraction.  A stranger was looming over her, and she saw herself reflected in the lenses of a pair of glasses.  She shrieked, and threw herself backwards and away from the unfamiliar face.  This made everything hurt worse, and she winced as agony lanced through her body.  The stranger smiled grimly, and she immediately checked his hands for weapons.  This brought his clothes to her attention, and she focused suddenly on her surroundings.

            She was lying in a narrow bed, and the pale brown of the walls wasn’t the least bit soothing.  _A hospital,_ she realised after a few moments of taking in the machines that surrounded her, and then she shifted her attention to the wires and tubes that were attached to her arms. 

            “Oh, my baby girl,” someone said, and she shifted her eyes to the right.  Her mother was sitting in a chair beside the bed, eyes rimmed red and cheeks wet with tears.  “Oh my poor baby,” she said again, and reached for her daughter.

            Claire hadn’t hugged her since before she left for college, and it was strange enough, on top of her sudden readmission to the real world, that she didn’t have the presence of mind to return the embrace.  Claire sobbed into her shoulder, overwhelmed with relief as Vicky stared blankly around her.

            “Where am I?” She focused on the doctor, the man who’d been looming over her when she’d opened her eyes, and he smiled his fake friendly doctor’s smile at her.

            “You’re in Sentara Hospital, on Independence,” he informed her.  “What do you remember about the last month?”

            _Month?_

“I’m – what?” Belatedly, she reached up and patted Claire’s shoulder awkwardly, unsure of how to deal with the outpouring of emotion from her unflappable mother. 

            “Vicky, I realise you’ve probably had a very traumatic experience.  I’d like you to tell me everything that’s happened to you over the last month you’ve been missing.  Who took you, how did they do it, where have they been keeping you?  Did you recognise where you were?  Do you think they could have taken you across state lines?  Please, Vicky, it’s very important that you tell us everything you remember right now, while it’s all still fresh in your mind.  Who’s Faye?  Is she one of your kidnappers?”

            His words were incomprehensible to her.  “Kidnappers?”

            Claire realised that he was getting nowhere, and stepped in, drawing on her iron backbone that had always somewhat awed Vicky.  “Vicky, you’ve been missing for a whole month.  We found your car in the park, but your purse was still there, and your keys and wallet.  The police said there were no signs of a struggle, and that it was probably someone you knew.  One of your professors?  Someone from school?  We’d given up all hope of ever seeing you alive again,” she confessed, and Vicky was treated to the rare sight of her mother crying. 

            A month.  She’d only been gone from Virginia a month, during the year she spent in Eversong.  They would never believe her; if she told them she’d fallen through the fountain and wound up in a world with elves and Faeries and dragons, they’d lock her away in a mental hospital, and she’d never have any hope at all of returning.  Something must have shown on her face, for the doctor sat on the end of her bed, and placed a comforting hand on her foot.

            “I realise that it’s not what you want to recall.  It must have been horrible for you.”

            Horrible.  What a complete joke.  She almost laughed, and then remembered that that was now on the List of Things She Couldn’t Do, because they’d assume that somewhere along the lines she’d lost her mind.  “It wasn’t horrible,” she said finally, but refused to elaborate further.  The kind look on the doctor’s face gave way to a nervous tension. 

            “You don’t have to lie to protect any one, Vicky.  We only want what’s best for you.  There is significant scarring…”  He trailed off, refusing to continue that line of thought.  Vicky thought back to her time in Girvanni, when she’d examined her accumulated scars, and wondered what modern doctors would make of them.  Especially considering that many of them were several months old, and she’d only been gone from here for four weeks. Claire would know that she’d had no scars on her body before her disappearance, and idly, she wondered how they would explain the immense physical changes that had come over her. 

            “I’m not lying,” Vicky said honestly.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            Claire sucked in a breath, wiping her face with a tissue. “What?” she asked.  “What?”

            “I don’t remember anything.”  It was the first real lie she’d ever told in her life.  “I don’t know where I’ve been, or what happened.  I don’t remember any of it.” She scrunched up her face, trying to present a picture of innocent bewilderment.  _What about my hair?_ She reached for it, and discovered that yes, it was still down to her knees.  Much too long for a month’s worth of growth.  The doctors must be going _mad_ trying to figure out what had happened to her.          “Where’s dad?” she asked finally, knowing that she had to talk to him as soon as possible. 

            “He had a wedding.  I called him when the police came to the door, but he couldn’t get out of it.  He’ll be here shortly, I promise.  Oh, _Vicky!_ ”  Another round of sobbing commenced.  Vicky was beginning to feel uncomfortable with both her mother’s unusual display of emotion, and the questions swimming in the doctor’s eyes, questions she’d never answer. 

            Finally, the staring match between herself and the doctor ended with a sigh on his part.  “If you remember anything, please get in contact with us immediately.  The police will be here shortly to take your official statement.”

            He left the room, politely pulling the door closed behind him.  Vicky pushed at her mother’s shoulder, trying to interrupt the sobbing.  “Mom.”  No reaction.  “Mom!” Claire looked up finally, wiping her eyes with a fresh tissue.  “I’m okay.” She tried to convey the depth of her okayness simply by staring, but Claire had no imagination whatsoever.  She was so grounded that she ought to have had roots instead of feet.  Claire would never in a million years understand what had happened to her, and how it had changed her as a person.  “I’m okay,” she said again, nodding. 

            The door interrupted whatever Claire had been about to say, flying open so quickly it hit the wall and bounced back.  Tim was already clear of it however, striding into the room as quickly as his feet would carry him.  “Vicky!”    

            “Daddy!” She reached up and wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding close the memories of her time in Eversong, knowing that he would understand no matter what she told him.  He nearly lifted her clear out of the bed, he held onto her so tightly.

            “Oh, Vick, we were so worried about you,” he said, and Vicky was horrified to see tears welling in his eyes.  “So worried,” he repeated, and then stood up to shrug off the bag he’d brought.  Vicky had assumed it was his camera, and was horrified to see him negligently drop it to the floor like so much baggage.

            “I’m okay,” she told her father, the same thing she’d been trying to convince her mother of.  He looked into her eyes, searching for the answers she hadn’t given the doctor, and her lips twitched into a tiny smile.  He must have seen something of the truth there in her face, for the next thing he did was shove at her legs so she moved and sit down on the edge of the bed.

            “Claire...” he started, and she got the message. 

            “I’ll be in the waiting room,” Claire promised, vacating her chair.  She pulled the door shut behind her, and Vicky turned back to her father.

            “Daddy, I found Eversong.” The words rushed out, almost tumbling over themselves in her haste to let him know what had happened.  He grinned suddenly, and grabbed at the bag he’d discarded.  From it, he withdrew the book she’d found at the store, the one called Eversong.  There was an empty place on the front where the key had been, and she suddenly recalled that she’d left the key with Jesse.  She’d planned on coming back, but she’d wanted to do it on her own terms. She hadn’t even gotten to say good bye to her friends, or tell Galahan that she wanted the Eimerli opened so that she could come back if she wanted. 

            The realization that she was trapped here on Earth was almost enough to make her start crying.  Then Tim was talking, and she wrenched her attention back to him.

            “I had a very good idea that that’s where you’d gone to,” he said.  “Once I found the book beside the fountain in Redwing.  You know, I went there once.”

            Vicky grinned at him, and waggled her fingers. “Aren says hi,” she said, and laughed at his flabbergasted expression.

            “You met Aren?” he wanted to know.  “How is he? And Shian? Is Karevr still a maniac for building things?  And everyone else. Where did you go, who did you see? Tell me everything.”

            So she talked.  She told him about meeting Jonas, and how he’d been a complete ass to her, and her trip through Kahlen.  She made him get the bag she’d brought back with her, and silently thanked whichever god might be listening that she’d been wearing it when she fell into the river.  She pulled out all of her clothes and the sword, and showed him how it could hold much more than it seemed to, and expressed her relief that it still worked on Earth. 

            He was most interested in her sword.  “You’re not hurt, are you?”

            “Are you kidding? I hurt all over.  But I think it’s because of the river, not because of any injuries I sustained during the battle.”

            Tim’s face went white under his tan.  “Battle?”

            Vicky shifted her eyes to the wall, and continued her narrative, talking about the Mir’naam and how they’d gone to war with the rest of Eversong after Zeeki’s death.

            “Zeeki’s dead?” Tim looked as though he’d been punched in the stomach.  Vicky glanced at him, startled.  “I can’t believe she’s gone,” he said.  “She was so lively when I saw her.”

            “Neena killed her,” Vicky said absently, stunned by the news that her father had known Zeeki. 

            “Neena… the woman who thought Jonas walked on water?”

            Hearing her father – practical, flighty, down-to-earth, imaginative father – talk of the people she’d come to know and love made her heart swell.  They were _real._  She hadn’t dreamed them up after hitting her head on the fountain. 

            She kept talking.  She talked until she was hoarse, and then she kept going.  Claire dropped in twice to check on them, but she had had twenty two years to get used to Vicky favouring her father, and didn’t take their objections to her presence very seriously. 

            Finally, she closed her story, telling Tim about the final battle against Dhiren, and how mistreated Ixtli had been, and how sweet a woman she remained even after all the abuse she’d suffered.  She told him about Ixtli swearing allegiance to the Mir’lian Royal family, and the partying that had taken place in the Kah’makh, and how she’d fallen into the river.

            Tim was silent for a long moment.  “My baby girl, captain of the royal guard!” he said finally, awe shining in his eyes.  He picked up her bag and removed the deadly looking sword from within it.  “You can actually use this, then?  No wonder you’re so skinny. There’s nothing left of you!  Didn’t they feed you over there?  And your hair’s so long.  I knew as soon as I saw you that you’d been gone much longer than a month, no matter how much time it’s been here.”

            His acceptance made it real.  He had endless questions to ask her, about the people she’d seen that he’d known, and the new friends she’d made.

            “Daddy, I want to go back,” she said finally.  Tim looked at her sadly, knowing that if she got the chance, she would leave again.

            “I know,” he said softly.  “I’ll help you.”

            She gaped at him. 

            “You just have to promise me that you’ll let me know before you vanish again.  I might even be able to convince your mother where you’ve been all this time, and where you’re going.”  He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, thinking.  “God, what I wouldn’t give to go back with you.”

            “The Eimerli,” Vicky said suddenly.  “If people can go through it _to_ Earth, there must be a way to get through it _from_ Earth.”

            “Vick, we have no way of proving that.  Where would the gate be on this side? We have nowhere to start looking.”  He took in the crestfallen look on her face, and then ruffled her hair.  “But I promise we’ll try, okay?” He smiled.  “We’ll try.”

            “That’s the best we can do,” she conceded, and hugged him tightly.

 

 

 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

 

            Vicky stared up at the familiar light green walls of her bedroom, and sighed heavily.  Her room was exactly as she’d left it a year ago – just a single month for her family here on Earth, however – but it was as unfamiliar to her now as if she were living in a stranger’s room.  All her old favourite J-rock posters were where she’d left them, but she found the language strange and twisted, and spent most of her days in contemplative silence. 

            Her dream log was open beside her alarm clock where she’d left it.  The last entry was the one she’d scrawled hastily the morning she found the Eversong book, about the repeating dream.  She barely remembered the details of it now, though flipping through previous entries in which she’d described it in detail told her that she’d been dreaming of Shu’mar and Jonas for months before she found the book.

            She’d been back for three days – two of which had been spent in the hospital, dodging not only the unwelcome questions of the three different psych doctors they’d thrown at her, but the police as well.  This was her first night back in her own bed, in her own bedroom, in over a year – not that any of them aside from her father knew that. 

            Already, she found she missed sleeping outside, with the comforting sound of the wind in the trees and the fire crackling nearby, and Faye’s happy chattering and Daemyn’s meditative silence.  She even missed her little spats with Jesse, and she caught herself wondering what they were doing for the fifth time in the span of an hour.

            _This will never do,_ she told herself.  _Just go to sleep._ She rolled over, trying to get comfortable, but found that the springs in the mattress jammed into her side painfully.  After two hours of tossing and turning, she dragged her blankets off the mattress and sprawled out on the floor.  It smelled overwhelmingly of synthetic carpet, and she wondered what her parents would think if they found her sleeping in the back yard.

            _My bed was too springy and my floor smelled fake,_ she thought, imagining the excuses she could give them.  _I miss the smell of grass and dirt and trees.  I miss Eversong._

            She eventually got to sleep humming a Mir’lian lullaby Jonas had sung to her the night of the ball. 

 

            Andrew was knocking down her front door the next morning.  Claire was used to his treating her house like his own – he’d known Vicky since they were freshmen in high school together – but Vicky found his presence intrusive.  She just wanted time to herself, to finish reading Eversong and see what it actually said, and to reminisce on her time spent there.  Instead she had to put up with his inane chattering about what all their old friends from Ambush were up to, and his constant barrage of questions about where she’d been and how she’d lost so much weight. 

            “Oh, hey, I totally forgot to tell you.  I made the national team last week.  I’m going to be playing in the Olympics next year.”

            Vicky’s mouth dropped open.  Andrew had been playing soccer since he was five years old, and he was damned good at it.  “That’s fantastic!” she told him, honestly happy for him.  She threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly.  He hugged her back, grinning, and then drew back with a pensive frown on his face.

            “Vicky…”

            She glanced up at him.  “What’s up?”

            His hand came down on her shoulder, feeling the rugged bumps of the scars from the skaal bite.  “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

            She considered lying to him, but lies didn’t come very naturally to her; it had taken all she had to tell the police that she didn’t remember where she’d been or what had happened.  “Andrew, if I tell you… you can’t tell _anyone._ ”  Not that anyone would believe him if he did.

            But he’d been a faithful friend to her for nearly ten years, and she’d trusted him implicitly before Eversong.  He turned his back as she changed her tee shirt out for a tank top, and she showed off the scars she’d accumulated.  He looked pained as she dragged the shirt up her back to show him the slash.

            “Vicky,” he started again, and she took a deep breath before launching into an explanation.  She didn’t leave a single thing out, from finding the book store between the Party City and the UPS store on Virginia Beach Boulevard, to picking up the book – she brought it out from under her bed and showed it to him – all the way through the final battle and her unexpected return.

            His eyes were shining when she finished.  “That is the single coolest thing I have _ever heard,_ ” he whispered.  She grinned at him, and felt a weight lift off her chest.

            Someone else knew.  Someone else believed her – and Andrew had never been there.  He glanced at the clock, and blanched.

            “Shit, I’m gonna be late for practice.  See ya, Tori.” He tugged on her ponytail, and let himself out.  She felt the tears welling up in her eyes at the gesture, a pang of homesickness shooting through her chest. 

            _Jesse.  I miss you guys._

            A month passed in a blur of endless days that merged into too-short nights.  Andrew was busy with practices, and packing to move in order to be closer to his team, so Vicky found herself alone.  She tried half-heartedly to find a job, but the city seemed too large, too open.  Driving through it’s crowded streets made her feel exposed and trapped; she missed Tana. 

            True to his word, Tim never gave up searching for an entrance into Eversong.  They even went so far as to bring the book back to the fountain in Redwing Park, but the only thing that came of it was wet clothes.  Vicky sank farther and farther into a depression that no one could rouse her from.  She was so used to getting strange looks from Claire by that point that she didn’t think anything of it the day she knocked on Vicky’s bedroom door and announced that there were people at the door for her.

            Vicky wondered if someone had called a mental hospital, and asked them to come pick her up.  She glided down the stairs, half-expecting to open the door and be thrust into a straight-jacket before being bundled off to a padded cell. 

            What she was not expecting was an armful of tiny blonde the second she twisted the knob and pulled it open. 

            “VICKY!  Oh, oh, Vicky it’s really you, it’s really you I missed you so much you have no idea how _boring_ it was without you is this your home your city is really big and what are those really noisy things on the black road doesn’t that look like the road in Girvanni you look so sad why aren’t you smiling?”

            “Faye?”

            Stunned, she took in the appearance of the other two standing just outside the door.  No wonder her mother had looked faintly ill; they were in tunics and the loose leggings preferred by the inhabitants of Eversong, and looked more suited to a fantasy convention than a modern suburban neighborhood.  “Jesse? What happened to your ears? _Daemyn_?”

            They _looked_ like her friends superficially, but stranger – they looked _human._

            “Galahan said that passing through the Eimerli would cause our appearance to change,” Daemyn said, lifting one shoulder awkwardly.  She glanced down at Faye, who was still clinging to her middle.  On Earth, she looked like a child, her slightly pointed ears and unnaturally large eyes reshaped to be more human-like.  It was strange to see them like this – to see them at _all._

            “Oh,” she said, and then there was nothing else to say because her throat had closed up on the force of her sobs, and she could do nothing but reach out and gather them into a hug.

 

            They were all sitting around her bedroom, Faye flitting anxiously around even without her wings.  “What’s this?” she asked, picking up Vicky’s alarm clock.

            “It’s a clock, it tells time.  It also plays music to wake me up in the morning.”

            Jesse and Daemyn were content to let Faye ask all the questions, as there was nothing that escaped her energetic attention.  Vicky couldn’t be mad at her for it, however, and she patiently answered all the questions Faye threw at her, overwhelmingly happy to have them back. 

            Several hours into the Earth Life Interrogation, as Vicky had privately dubbed it, Faye’s stream of questions was interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door.  “Vick?”

            “Come in daddy,” Vicky called, suddenly excited.  The door swung open, revealing a confused-looking Tim.

            “Claire said you had strange guests, I was wondering –”  He caught sight of the trio of strangers in his daughter’s bedroom, and cut himself off.  She’d told him enough over the course of the last month that he recognised them instantly. He shot her an excited look, just as happy that they were there as she was.  “You must be Vicky’s friends from Eversong,” he said warmly.  “Jesse and Daemyn and Faye, right?”

            They nodded in unison, and Faye bounded over to him.  “Are you Vicky’s dad? You’re really tall.  I have a letter for you from Aren, he says that if you can make it back with us he’d really like to see you again.  He’s really missed you all these years, I don’t think you’ll recognise each other any more you’ve both really changed, you see he’s a really good artist and he drew me a picture of what you looked like when you were little. You don’t look anything like Vicky now but you used to and –”

            “Do you ever breathe?” Tim asked her laughingly, inviting himself into Vicky’s room and settling beside her on the bed.  Faye shook her head, smiling brightly.

            Daemyn climbed to his feet and bowed.  “It is very good to finally meet you, Mr. Crawford,” he said formally, and extended his hand.  “Vicky has told us a lot about you, and I must admit that I was looking forward to meeting you.”

            Tim shook his hand, nodding in return to the bow.  “Likewise,” he said.  “Now what’s that you said about going back with you?”

            Jesse reached out and shook his hand next.  “We opened the Eimerli to connect with the front yard of this house.  It’d probably be a good idea to put something in the spot where the gate is, so that you don’t accidentally find yourself in Shu’marra.”

            “You what?” Vicky could hardly believe what she was hearing.  _I can go back.  I can go back!_

            “It’s a two-way doorway between the worlds.  Galahan set it up with Jachai’s family – they’re wizards, too, like Dhiren.” Jesse flicked a glance at Tim, and then looked into Vicky’s eyes as she absorbed this.  “But without the whole creepy part,” he added, and she laughed even as the tears started spilling out over her face.  Daemyn resettled himself on the floor, and his lap was immediately taken up by Faye. 

            “Those are really pretty clothes,” Faye noted, peering into the closet.  “Hey, do you think I could get some clothes like that?  Aren would totally be jealous.  He wanted to come with us, but my mom and dad wouldn’t let him.  They said that one child venturing out into new worlds was enough, but that they’d let him come visit you, Mr. Crawford, if you didn’t mind.”

            “Please call me Tim,” he said.  Vicky could hear the disbelief in his voice, and knew it was echoed on her face.  _We can go back. They can come visit us here, too.  Oh, Galahan…_ “And I’d love for him to come and visit some time.  I think he’d enjoy it.  I think Karevr would, too,” he added wryly.

            Jesse looked between father and daughter, and then grinned.  “I can see where Vicky gets it,” he said mischievously, and Vicky threw her pillow at him in retaliation. 

            “Hey, Vicky,” Faye said suddenly.  “I don’t really want to go back yet.  Is it okay if we hang out here for a while?”

            Vicky looked at Tim.  Tim grinned happily.  “I’d love for you to stay.  We’ll have to get you some new clothes, though.  Why don’t you take them out later, and ya’ll can go shopping?” he suggested.  “I’ll go make up the spare room for the boys, if you don’t mind sharing with Faye.”

            Vicky could barely believe what she was hearing.  Not only could she go back, but she could have them here for a little while, too.  “I don’t mind,” she said quickly.  “This is going to be _amazing._ ”

            “Tim?” Claire climbed the stairs and poked her head into Vicky’s room. “Oh, there you are.  Hello, everyone.  Is there anything I can get you? Drinks?”

            Daemyn stood again, and this time he managed to check his bow, offering his hand instead.  “Hello,” he said politely.  “You must be Vicky’s mother.  My name is Daemyn Swift, a friend of your daughter.”

            Faye waved hyperactively.  “I’m Faye! You look  just like Vicky, did you know that?  Daemyn that was a silly thing to say, of course she’s Vicky’s mom, she couldn’t be anyone else, she-” Daemyn put a hand over her mouth and smiled apologetically at Claire. 

            Jesse stood and introduced himself also.  “You’ll have to forgive Faye, she’s a little hyper,” he said, and the tiny girl aimed a kick at his shin that he dodged easily.

            “Drinks would be great,” Vicky interjected before things could get out of hand.  “I’ll come with you and get them, because Faye doesn’t need soda.”  

            She followed her mother down the stairs, listening to an argument breaking out between Faye and Jesse as Tim tried to run interference.  Claire turned a stern look on her.

            “Vicky,” she started, and then closed her mouth tightly on whatever she was about to say.  After a few moments, she tried again.  “Did they have anything to do with your disappearance?” she asked finally.

            Vicky shook her head.  “No,” she said honestly.  “But I met them… while I was gone.  They’re my friends.”

            Claire’s lips thinned into a line as she absorbed this.  Vicky swallowed against a lump in her throat, wondering if she wasn’t about to get her father into trouble with this.        

            “Did daddy ever tell you what happened when he was a kid?”

            Claire looked startled.  “He told me something happened when he was eight years old, but not what.”

            Well, it was a start.  “You’re probably not going to believe this,” she said, and told her mother about Eversong, and where she’d spent the last year of her life – the last month of theirs.  Claire listened intently, never once interrupting.  Vicky was undaunted by the fact that her expression never changed; Claire was a strictly ‘see to believe’ type of person.  Magic and ghosts and all that other nonsense were beyond the scope of Claire’s beliefs. 

            Finally, she finished her story, and waited for Claire to assimilate everything she’d been told.  Finally, she sighed.

            “You’re right,” she said. “It’s unbelievable. But… if you say it happened, it happened.”

            Vicky felt the decade-long animosity with her mother lift suddenly, and threw her arms around her.  “Thank you,” she said.  “Thank you for believing me.”

            Claire smiled thinly, and hugged her daughter tightly.  “I’ve seen how much you’ve changed,” she said.  “I’ve seen how unhappy you’ve been.  I’ve seen how much joy the presence of these three strangers has brought you and your father.  The least I can do is believe that something out of the ordinary’s going on.”

            “Hey, Claire, where are the drinks? We’re dying up here!”

            Vicky laughed as Claire rolled her eyes at her husband and gathered the drinks up.

            “Let’s go shopping!” Faye shouted.

            Vicky closed her eyes and felt at peace.  _I had that dream again,_ she thought.  _That dream where I find everything I’ve ever wanted, just waiting for me right outside my front door._


	25. Epilogue

            The prince was gone from Shu’marra on some damn fool’s errand, and Lukus Riverspear finally saw his chance to get away from the castle and make a name for himself.  He’d been constantly overshadowed, first by Jonas, then Danica, then Jesse, and finally, the worst insult of all, some human girl who wasn’t even Everborn.  She’d come from _Earth,_ and everyone treated her like she was some Lady-damned Goddess.  Well, he was determined to finally get the recognition he deserved.  He’d show them all when he returned from Mt. Zen’la’eng as the Dragon Master, and he could blame it on that wretched Earth-girl. 

            He’d gotten the idea from her during the campaign against the Mir’naam, filthy beasts they were.  It was also her fault that they had to treat the _pithniyara_ like they were friends, and he hated her even more strongly for that.  They’d killed his Neena, his beautiful, shining light, and the one who’d done it had walked away completely unscathed.  Girvanni would be his first target, he decided, when he freed the Dragon Lord and came back to rule Eversong.  In a way, he decided, he could almost be grateful to the brat.  He’d overheard her asking that _pithniya_ Aliyan about the dragons, and remembered the legend of Draevn.  He’d be so grateful to Lukus for freeing him that he would agree to help him return honour to the lost souls of Eversong, he was sure. 

            To add insult to injury, he stole Ashvintanakh, the horse the Earth-girl had been so attached to, and felt grim satisfaction in the thought of riding her as hard as he could in order to make the best time to Zen’la.  It was a two week journey from Shu’ma to Zen’la, and he had no intentions of being caught before he could implement his plans.  They were too brilliantly thought out for anyone to stop him now.  He’d spent weeks going over every last detail, perfecting the plan, and now it was finally ready. 

            He left Shu’ma in the dead of night, luring the stupid horse out of the gates with an apple before climbing on and riding south.

           

            Staring up at the massive mountain, Lukus found himself having second thoughts.  It was _massive._  Then he dismissed his misgivings as being weak, and he left the horse tied to a tree before he began his climb.  He wouldn’t need it on the return journey; he’d have a much more powerful mount by then. 

            With the spell of release tucked into his satchel, he climbed despite the heavy snow and howling wind that threatened to peel him straight off the face of the mountain.  Only the thought of what awaited him at the top kept him going. 

            It was a three day journey to the summit, with brief breaks every now and again for resting and sleep.  Finally the seal came into view, just above him.

            He climbed faster, every step bringing him closer to his glorious revenge.  The seal was hung between two enormous trees, the likes of which he’d never seen before in his very long life.  It looked like nothing more than a twist of fabric tied around the trunks, like a hammock that had been blown around in the wind, but he knew better. 

            Putting one hand out, he could feel the power in the seal.  It would not let him pass until he broke it, and he drew the papers out of his satchel with trembling hands.

            _Stop shaking you idiot. Today is the day all your dreams come true._

He read the words aloud, his voice strong and clear, and he congratulated himself on a job well done as the seal shimmered, and faded away.  He had a sudden, horrifying thought that there would be nothing behind the legends of the Dragon Lord after all, but he squelched it and stepped inside. 

            The cavern behind the seal was hot as Kinut’s fire, a welcome change from the frigid temperatures behind him.  The wind ripped through him, tearing the papers out of his hands, and taking with it the spell that would awaken Draevn.  He cursed roundly and fluently in every language he could think of, even the dirty Mir’naam language – he’d learned the swear words in order to taunt the bastards on raids, and he found them particularly useful when he was angry.

            The caves were sweltering, though, and he wiped the sweat off his face as he moved farther in.  The tunnel narrowed in places to the point that he wondered how in the name of the nine great gods he’d ever get the dragon out of there, and then decided that it was a pointless endeavor; Draevn was the Dragon _Lord_ ; he would certainly have the power to blow a few puny holes in the rock.

            Finally the way widened, and opened into an enormous cavern.  In the very back was the most massive creature he’d ever laid eyes on.  His heart stopped dead in his chest for two full beats before stuttering back to life as he surveyed the majesty of the sleeping Lord.  Another, smaller seal was hung in front of him, and Lukus strode forward confidently. 

            “Draevn!” he called.  “I, Lukus Riverspear call on you! I call on you to awaken!  I call on you in the name of Elafadrin in the East!  I call on you in the name of Balthorn in the North!  I call on you in the name of the Phane in the West!  I call on you in the name of Kuvall in the South!  I call on you Draevn Dragon Lord, in the name of Lukus Riverspear!”

            It wasn’t the proper incantation, but it sounded jolly good to his own ears.  To his surprise, the seal shimmered, and broke.  Then he congratulated himself.  _He’d done it!_ He’d broken the seal, and now Draevn was his to command. 

            The massive dragon stirred, scales shimmering in the non-light of the cavern.  One huge eye opened and blinked.  Lukus stepped forward, his mouth open to greet his new slave, but the words never reached his mouth.

            He never saw the jet of flame until it had consumed him.  His last awareness was of the mighty laughter that broke forth from the awakened Dragon Lord as his body was burned to ashes.  He didn’t even have time to be sorry for what he’d done before he was gone.

 

 

 

_The End_


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